


Light From a Distant Star

by Aurenia (BJ_Nichols)



Series: Ships that Pass [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Atypical Relationship, Comfort, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Non-Canon Story, Relationship Issues, Sex, Smut, Trying to Forget, Violence, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2019-07-23 14:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 71,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJ_Nichols/pseuds/Aurenia
Summary: Skavak's good at being bad, it's what he knows, it's his comfort zone. Guys like him don't get the girl or the happy ending, but he'd almost had it once, and once was enough, right? Right?





	1. Moths and Other Small Things

Skavak lay on the rooftop scanning the street through the night vision scope on the sniper rifle. He was twenty stories up and two hundred meters out. He’d adjusted the windage and elevation while he waited, and the reticle centered perfectly on the unwary pedestrians filing by like insects on the pavement far below. The silencer would muffle the retort, but not by much. Slugthrowers weren’t known for being subtle, but they’d pierce a body shield like a needle poked through a soap bubble.   

The adrenaline would come later, fire to melt the ice now flowing through his veins. He’d have to run like hell once the shot was fired and he looked forward to the hormone feeding his muscles and pumping his heart and lungs. The intended victim was just business and inconsequential to the thrill of escape. That was what he lived for.   

He’d followed this particular rat roach for three weeks, learning his habits; eating establishments, cantinas, and brothels he liked to frequent. The man had appetites he couldn’t control which made him predictable like morning wood before you take a piss. Skavak didn’t know the man other than a name and face on a dossier, termination, one mil, firm. He did know the type, all swagger, and hot air as long as he had muscle at his back. Thought he owned the world and everyone on it. HA! Asshole had definitely pissed in the wrong person’s oatmeal.

He checked his crono then sighted through the scope again, homing in on pedestrians, male and female, focusing, focusing... _Shit!_   

The muzzle of a blaster poked into the back of his skull like the finger of death. Too late he’d sensed the oily embrace of a cloaking shield slicked over his prone body, massaging across his ribs and up his neck. Tunnel vision, he knew better. He hadn’t heard a damned thing. _Sonofabitch!_

He closed his eyes against the inevitable. “Make it quick.”

“If I wanted you dead, you would be,” a female voice muttered. Husky and smooth like whiskey poured over ice. The kind of voice you’d pray to hear before you met your maker.

“Your move.” He turned his head just enough to see a shapely thigh and booted calf folded into the knee kneeling by his shoulder.   

“It’s always my move,” she purred. “You’ll miss the shot.”

“I don’t think so,” Skavak purred back.

“Yes, you will, and I can’t take that chance. The mark will go underground, and I’ll have to start all over again. I don’t have that kind of time to waste.”

“Alright. So, what’s the play?” He tightened his grip on the rifle, bunching muscles to turn and strike.

She pushed the muzzle harder into his skull. “Please don’t move. I really don’t want to kill you, but a scuffle might draw unwanted attention, and I’d lose my advantage. I’ll take the kill count, and you’ll take the funds. An equitable exchange.”

“I prefer to do my own dirty work.”

“I imagine you do, but we all have our masters, Mr. Skavak.”

The prick of something sharp on his neck. _Bitch is gonna leave me here to take the fall—_ his last thought before the world went black.

Minutes, hours, time’s irrelevant in the dark. Skavak jolted awake as if a million tiny electrodes had fired all at once. Agitated voices rose from the street, screaming, yelling, the thud of running feet. He scooted forward to peek over the edge of the roof at the people milling below. A body lay in the center of a ring of curious onlookers being pushed back by the men hired to keep the dead man safe. Huh, rent-a-thugs, so much for good help. A whisper of movement on a rooftop three streets over caught his attention. Time to move.

Every nerve ending seared like a three-alarm fire, his clothes rubbed like sandpaper as they rasped across his much too sensitive skin. His rifle was gone. _Clever girl._ Short term sedative with a time-release chaser that kicked like adrenaline on steroids. Oh yeah, he’d ride the rush and milk it ‘til it ran dry. Coming down would be a bitch, but he’d deal with that later.

He slid back, the skin on his stomach screamed as if he were being flayed a millimeter at a time. His datapad dug unto his ribs like a fist. He knew pain, that old friend that reminded him he was still alive and to move his ass while the getting was good. He pushed himself to his feet and sidled from one exhaust vent to the next, low and out of sight until he reached the rope secured on the opposite side of the roof.

The rope fibers bit into his hands, abrading flesh much too alive for comfort. The speeder waited at the end of the rope, he cringed at the vibration slamming against his balls. She’d left a message his whole body could read; ‘ _You’re alive. Feel it and be damned grateful.’_

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he muttered against the wind. “You may regret your decision.”

Outskirts of town, fleabag hotel, top floor, corner room, lots of escape routes. He didn’t know the name, didn’t need to, didn’t want to. No expense accounts for this line of work, no receipts required. He’d had his fun, such as it was, met a new friend, such as she was. He’d walked away. Life was good.

The keycard slipped into the lock, the door slid open, the smell of new dust and old sex hit his nose. Some things never wash away. Locals and spacers renting by the hour and long gone. The residue of wild times on a low budget—he’d been there before. Cheap women, cheap booze, and spending credits like he’d never see another. Only fools got stuck in the glory days of misspent youth, and he was no fool. He’d learned the value of his skills and never looked back.

He reached for the light switch, the glare hurt his eyes. A single dirty lightbulb hung from the ceiling, a moth came from nowhere to flutter and beat its wings against the only source of heat. It would die soon never knowing the freedom that waited just outside the grimy windows.

“Tough luck, buddy,” Skavak grunted. “You should have fucked your lady moth and called it a day.”

His eyes, grown accustomed to the light, scanned the room, coming to rest on the bed. His rifle lay across the threadbare blanket, dark and ominous against the faded blue. He slid sideways, back against the wall, closing the still open door. His ears tuned to pick up every sound, hearing only the noises of the hotel. Faint music from the cantina on the first floor, the squeak of bedsprings, the sound of the communal sonic from down the hall, footsteps going past his door, the pop and creak of the building settling from the heat of day to the cool of night.

She’d been there.

He tried to catch her scent, but she had none; no soap, no perfume, toothpaste or second-hand smoke. Nothing to give her away. Damn, she was good.

Something glimmered from under the rifle. He strode forward to pluck the piece of flimsi off the bed. Words in delicate writing flowed across the page. _‘The scope was off. You would have missed. Easy money is the most fun to spend. Enjoy.’_

He threw his head back and laughed. Deep, throaty, liberating. Stars, he hadn’t laughed like that in a long time, not since... Aww, hell, he wasn’t on the right kind of high to go there. Dammit, Ky. He tucked her back into the box inside his head, wishing he could lock it, knowing he never would.

The jitters hit with a vengeance, aftershocks wracked his body in the freefall of coming down from whatever industrial grade shit sexy voice had shot into this neck. He’d have to ride the currents without a parachute, and if he hit bottom standing still, he’d crack like a nut. His hands shook, he fucking hated the shakes. Booze wouldn’t help. His scalp crawled, his nerves sizzled like a nerf steak on an open grill. He’d have to walk it off, the spaceport was far enough to do the trick. He scratched his head, nails digging in before he slicked his hair back. Rucksack thrown over his shoulder, he exited the room, leaving the light on for the moth. _Nothing should die in the dark._ He’d ditch the rifle along the way.   

#

Seven watched the hotel, she knew what room he was staying in and would have given a month’s wages to see the look on his face when he saw the rifle. She adjusted her aural implant, honing in on the window, top floor, corner room. He’d found her note. The bastard was laughing, rich, male, coming from the gut. She liked the sound and smiled, something she seldom did unless she had a reason. The mask of no show, no tell, slipped over her features with practiced ease, but she wouldn’t forget he’d made her smile all the way to her eyes.      

She should have shot him, would probably regret not doing so, but it would’ve been criminal to deprive the universe of that ass, and he wasn’t on her list...yet. He’d bear watching, she’d seen him before, and this made twice their objectives had aligned. Twice could be a coincidence, third time would be the charm. Bad things came in threes—well, shit, wasn’t she a treasure trove of old superstitious sayings.

She’d been dropped on planet five days ago with no idea anyone else was there tracking her quarry. How the hell could Sith Intelligence have missed this? Why the hell wasn’t she told?  Surely, they’d tracked Skavak since Bentalle III where he’d nabbed her objective right out from under her nose. It looked bad on her record, made her appear incompetent, pissed her off. Someone was pulling strings, and she wasn’t the only one dancing; Skavak was right there with her on the same stage.      

The man was patient, methodical, observant; he’d have made a damned good spy. She let him do the legwork—he watched the mark, she watched him. He’d pick the right time, the right place, no doubt about it, but she had to take the shot; proof of kill required. That would balance the books once more in her favor, but for how long and who was keeping the ledger?         

She faded into the shadows while a group of the local constabulary passed by, muttering among themselves, boots thudding on the pavement. Things would be hot for a while, the current senator putting on a concerned face for his constituents, incensed at the recent murder of an upstanding citizen, pledging to put a stop to crime. Yeah, Omar Sten, dead upstanding citizen who’d been blackmailing the good Senator for nearly six months. A fledgling underworld boss, strong Hutt ties, who’d gotten entirely too big for his britches. The Empire takes care of its own, and better to take out the trash than let a known ticket be punched.

“Humph,” she snorted through her nose. The good Senator. He answered to his Sith overlords same as she. A mole in the galactic senate, well compensated, well protected, for now, but moles didn’t live long in the grand scheme of things. She’d heard rumors about the blackmail, some real sick shit. He’d make someone’s list eventually, hopefully, hers. She could eliminate a decent man in a heartbeat, scum she could dispense without blinking an eye.   

She hadn’t quite figured out why she was sent. Any third-year agent could have completed a simple assassination, a Cipher was overkill. There was something more to this, and she wasn’t leaving until she found out. She was a digger, and Keeper knew it. Smart fucker.

Movement by the hotel door, Skavak slipped out into the night, a glimpse of long legs and a wide-brimmed hat melted into the shadows. Idiot had the rifle. _Just drop the damned thing._ She followed on crepe-soled boots, silent as fog drifting from one dark spot to the next, folding into the night like black silk.

Skavak sidled up to the back of a Junker’s truck parked at the rim of light pooling down from a cantina sign, the cab was empty, the driver likely inside guzzling down his evening meal. Skavak slung his arm upward, reflection winked off the gun barrel followed by the clunk of metal on metal. By tomorrow the rifle would be part of a compressed cube, off-planet and headed for the nearest dumping grounds. _Bright boy._

A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth when he stopped long enough to tuck his fingers under the hat to scratch his head. The stim was wearing off, the sensation of ants creeping through his hair would last a while and be annoying as hell. He probably hated her. She’d been hated before.

The spaceport was too well lit for her to continue to follow. The last she saw of him was that glorious backside and broad shoulders disappearing through the entrance. He’d have to have fake ID and connections to get off planet now, something she took as rote and not speculation. For some reason she couldn’t quite fathom, it was important to her that he got away. She had a feeling she’d see him again. Someone was pulling strings, she just had to pluck the right one to lure the spider out from hiding. She had webs of her own.

Seven made her way to Hotel Semona, high rent, ritzy and where Omar had claimed his digs in the penthouse suite. It was crawling with local authority, no way to look around even if she could slip by the guards. She glanced at her crono, a little past ten, they’d leave in a few hours. She climbed the outside stairwell of the building across from the hotel and hunkered down, adjusting her retinal and aural implants for surveillance through the transparasteel panels that comprised the outside wall of the apartment.

The man in charge barked orders while techs used scanners on furniture, walls, floor, and ceiling. The wall safe stood open and empty, though she doubted Omar would have used it anyway, at least not for anything important. Her eyebrows rose in speculation. It was possible he’d keep anything important on his person, a key perhaps, or a tattoo with a hidden clue. His person was now lying on a slab in the med-center morgue. She glanced at her crono, midnight. Shift change. Perfect.

The cloaking shield hummed along her body, heads turned as the sliding doors of the med-center opened, and nobody came through. She left the confused faces of staff and the few people waiting in the visitor's lounge behind with expressions she sometimes found amusing, but not tonight. She made her way to the information plaque and followed the black indicator line to the stairwell leading down to the morgue. The elevator was too risky, and she’d need to deactivate the shield soon, the beginning of a headache prickled at the back of her eyes.

Chemical smells brought back unwanted memories of her early days in the academy, reminders of broken bones, injections, stitched flesh, and scar removal. She’d have been a patchwork doll by the time she was sixteen if not for the miracle of medicine. She shoved the images away before the painful residue could settle in her gut. She’d fight those battles in her nightmares; in a war she never won.

The morgue was still like nothing living could break the absolute quiet of death. The desk sat abandoned, the caf unit empty, a water faucet dripped somewhere, the splash muffled as if ashamed to be heard. She dropped the shield. The computer was locked, password protected, no time to slice in. Seven moved toward the double doors marked ‘Autopsy 1/Cold Storage’, damn, keypad locked. No choice. She removed the portable datapad from her belt pouch and attached one end of a retractable cable into the data port of the keypad. The numbers seven, four, nine, and two showed the most wear, she keyed them into the datapad and set it to go through every permutation. A few seconds passed, the light flashed green, the lock clicked, and the doors slid open.

She entered the room, flicked on the lights and was greeted by an autopsy table flanked by rows of polished durasteel storage units, fourteen to a side, only four were tagged as being occupied. A holopicture with pertinent data of each unit’s occupant was attached to the corresponding door, two elderly men, a teenage boy, and Omar in unit four. An autopsy was scheduled for oh-eight-hundred, she had time.

Seven pulled at the latch, the door swung open, a cloud of vapor puffed from the opening when the frigid air hit the relative warmth of the room. The drawer slid out noiselessly on rollers revealing Omar Sten in all his naked glory. She had no desire to take the measure of the man, but her eyes glanced down there for a second. Human nature. She shrugged, it was no big deal.

The entry wound on his head was a symmetrical work of art, the exit wound, not so much. Skin lay in tatters over a jaw hanging slack and askew, several teeth gone. The remaining molars bartered with shattered bone for claim to being the whitest thing in the room. The teeth were winning by a couple of shades.  

The datapad set for scan, she moved the device from the top of his head, down the right side of his body and back up the left. There, under his left armpit, a mass displayed as a dark patch on the screen. The bastard had a derma-pouch.       

She shifted to that side of the drawer to move his arm. Rigor had already started to set in, his skin cold and slightly damp to the touch. Placing one hand on his shoulder, she grasped the crook of his elbow, applying steady pressure pulling his arm away from his body until it drooped over the edge giving her room to work. She poked at the wrinkled and slightly puffy area, the tips of her fingers meeting hard resistance just under the skin. Too bad derma-pouches didn’t come with zippers.               

The blade of the knife she pulled from her boot snicked open, the edge honed to the micro sharpness of a scalpel. No blood oozed from the clean incision made across the thin seam of scar tissue. A faint whiff of lemon wafted across her nose. The pouch gapped open in an obscene grin, she searched the cavity with two fingers and gripped the edge of something hard and flat. It slipped out of the grip of her tightly scissored fingers, she tried again, same thing. _Fuck it._ She did what she should have done in the first place, laid the skin pouch open like a filleted fish. A data chip and a small clear, oblong container lay inside.

She tucked the chip into her belt and held the container up to the light. Two strands of hair, one dark as caf beans, the other molten gold, twined together, tied at one end with a thin ribbon the color of blood. Left side, close and dear to the heart. Wives? Lovers? Children? Seven had no time to speculate and slid the container into her belt alongside the chip.

She ran her index finger around the inside flaps of skin, a pale-yellow deodorizer pellet pinged off the metal drawer and bounced to the floor. Huh. Sentimental and clean, two marks in Omar’s plus column, the rest of him was pure debt, and she’d collected early.

Her crono vibrated against her wrist, _shit._ Twelve fifteen, she’d been there too long. She shoved his arm onto the drawer, slid it back into the freezer and closed the door, preparing to leave when the lock clicked on the entry. She activated her cloak just as the doors slid open, sidling along the edge of the room. Two med-techs strode in.

“I thought the lights were supposed to be turned off. Wonder if Tills has been nipping at the bottle on duty again,” med-tech one said.

“Damned if I know,” tech two replied. “Best get on with our rounds. Maybe we’ll get lucky tonight, and there’ll be a massacre or a fire at the old folk’s home. Anything to liven things up. Stars, I hate graveyard shift.”

“Makes two of us,” tech one said and turned out the light.

Seven waited a few minutes then pressed the interior release button for the doors. They slid open, she slid out. The last thing she heard as she reached the stairwell door was tech voices dribbling down the hallway.

“You hear something?”

“Naw. The dead don’t walk.”

Empty streets, occasional patrol, Seven made her way to the hotel, slipped into her room, and turned off the cloak. She’d used the thing way too much and was gonna have a real thumper of a headache. The power core did some weird shit to sentient biology, and she’d more than exceeded her limit of exposure. At least it hadn’t screwed with her implants this time, small mercies.

Bag packed, she pulled the long, blonde wig over the skullcap and tucked in any stray strands of her dark brown hair. Business suit, green contact lenses, fake ID, all set. She booked transport on a small liner that made regular stops on Arness a neutral world four days from Sith space. Her ship was docked there under the watchful eye of Thel Ozz, pilot, medic and all-around pain in the ass. She’d had enough of Republic space. Time to return to the barn. Keeper would be waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just can't seem to leave this guy alone so here he is again in all his devious glory. Cipher 7 is all mine and she's got issues of her own. Don't know that I can swing regular updates, but I will finish the story. I'll post Monday or Tuesday as the chapters fall. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Oh, I made this part of a series because everything ties back to Ky from White Knights and Promises in one way or another.
> 
> This may go to explicit in the future, depending on what happens.
> 
> The Derma-pouch is my creation, I figured why not. Safe place to hide something dear or important. And nobody ever expects to die that soon.


	2. Unexpected Shackles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skavak doesn't want to go there, but some things best forgotten, come back to bite you on the ass. Seven gets new orders.

For two months after he’d left Tython, Skavak lounged on a Hutt pleasure world, spending way too many of the credits gleaned from his excursion with Thorne and Ky. Living the dream, sipping fruity drinks with little umbrellas stuck in slices of orange and checking out the tits and ass of the local scenery. Drinking was easy, fucking was easy, and at the end of those two months he was bored out of his mind, needed his adrenaline fix, and more than anything else, he needed to forget.    

In those rare times when he was sober enough to be truthful with himself, he faced the sad fact that he was simply no damned good—and he liked it. Get an itch, scratch an itch, wash it away in the shower. Shot in the dark, knife to the throat, backstabbing, double-dealing, lying, cheating sonofabitch... Stars, he loved the high. Raw, harsh, immediate, almost as good as sex and lasted longer. A different kind of release and it was way past time to burrow back into the life he knew.

He’d burned a lot of bridges, could count his friends on one hand, minus a digit or two. He needed a way to break back in and had taken the job from the persistent bastard who kept blowing up an old business account he hadn’t used in years. Called himself Ferrous. Decent credits for a simple heist. Too simple. It didn’t feed his addiction, didn’t use half his skills and only left him hungry for more.

The second job came soon after. An assassination, the thrill of the hunt, he could almost feel the bones crack between his teeth. The mystery woman had been a plus even though she’d stolen his kill. The questions of why she was there and why he was still alive stuck in the back of his mind like thorns festering for an answer. Who threw them in the path of each other, or was it just a mistake? The only thing he knew for sure was that she was Imperial, and the Imps weren’t known for that kind of screw up.  

Now here he was, shuffled through security like a VIP and booked in a mid-tier berth on a passenger ship bound for Nar Shaddaa. Whoever the hell this Ferrous was, he didn’t like the prick. This was it, time to cut the bastard loose. Skavak worked better on his own.

Deck fourteen, not as posh as the upper tiers, not as squalid as those further below, his berth was roomy enough with a private sonic and a double bed. The door whispered shut behind him, the smell of cleansers and freshly laundered sheets filled the room. Damned sight better than the dump he’d just checked out of. He briefly wondered if the moth was still alive, the thought there and gone, a mote of experience swept away in the wide swath of his life.             

He shrugged the rucksack from his shoulder, dropped it on the foot of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling a tin of spice-laden cigarettes from an inside pocket of his vest. He threw the wide-brimmed hat haphazardly at the small desk sitting against the wall. The hat bounced once and slid onto the floor. Skavak left it where it landed.   

He scratched his thumbnail along the head of the match and held the tiny flame against the tip of the cigarette gripped tight between the vice of his lips. Waving the flame into extinction, he inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs, holding it there like a gift before exhaling and waiting for the drug to wrap around his senses. On the tail end of crashing from a stim high, the spice would level him out, dull the sharp edges and maybe even let him sleep.                     

He’d just exhaled his second hit when his datapad chimed. Text message, old school, he was ok with that. Ferrous never showed his face and didn’t like to talk.

The first short sentence appeared on the screen.

_(The job done?)_

Skavak typed his response. ‘Yes. Funds transferred?’

_(Don’t insult me, Mr. Skavak. Any complications?)_

Skavak’s mind flashed back to the shapely thigh wrapped in black like a second skin and the voice that dripped like honey. His fingers tapped out the lie. ‘No. I take it our business is finished?’

_(For now. I’ll have something else for you soon.)_

‘I don’t think so. I don’t need your credits or you.’

_(Of course, you do.)_

‘Oh really? What could you possibly offer?’

_(Nine different things, Mr. Skavak, and I know where she is. My silence can only be bought with a very specific currency. Your continued cooperation.)_

Skavak’s stomach twisted into a knot. ‘You’re lying.’

_(Open the vid file I just sent. Don’t leave Nar Shaddaa. We’ll speak soon.)_

Skavak squinted against the column of smoke spiraling up from the cigarette now clenched between his teeth, he switched screens. An email waited, no return address, no subject, only an attachment. He double tapped the file, chose open and waited for the playback to begin.

_Fucking hell!_ Ky walked through a market, Corso beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist. Farmboy smiled, leaned in to kiss the top of her head. She wrapped her arm around his waist in kind, they walked on. Just before rounding a corner, Ky glanced over her shoulder as if she knew they were being watched. The camera zoomed in, freezing her face center frame. Skavak pressed pause before the vid could end, immortalizing her portrait on the screen. He crooked his index finger and ran the edge of his knuckle along the curve of her cheek, from hairline to chin, across her lips.

The date and time stamp could be altered, but he didn’t think so. He thought he was done with this, with her, the tight pain in his chest proved him wrong. _Damn!_

A long ash fell to the floor, the heat of the cigarette creeping closer, threatening to burn his mouth. He spat it out onto the rug and smashed it with his boot leaving a charcoal smudge and a scorch mark in the weave. Her hazel eyes stared into his reproachfully, a hint of humor riding the fine laugh lines. He almost apologized out loud. Suddenly the room was too small.

He heaved himself from the bed, laying the datapad on the top with entirely too much care. The few steps to the ‘fresher took forever, the water he splashed over his face and the back of his neck not nearly cold enough. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, emotion crackled and surfaced. Anger settled over the tattoo on the right side of his face like a jagged storm. The left was white as salt.

The ship made the jump, the mirror shimmied, blurring his face, but his goal was crystal clear. He’d kill the sonofabitch, and that took playing the game. He didn’t know the rules yet, but he would. Stars, he needed a drink.

#

Seven came out of hyperspace over Dromund Kaas. She’d sent word ahead, Keeper was expecting her.

Lightning raked through the deep cloud cover in pale, thin rills like veins on breaking glass. Wind gusts buffeted her ship, _The Hedron,_ while the control tower’s tractor beam guided them through the charged atmosphere to docking bay thirty-eight.

Thel disengaged the repulsors and rose from the pilot’s seat, stretching his back and cracking his neck. Whipcord thin, a shock of auburn hair graying at the temples brushed the collar of the shirt that hung from his bony frame. Peridot green eyes sparkled above a wide band of freckles dotted across the bridge of his nose and cheeks sharp enough to cut stone. Barely a half meter taller than Seven, he’d often humbled those that had underestimated his small stature and deceptively easy smile. He could shave the whiskers off a vine cat at a hundred paces and was wiry, quick, and deadly hand to hand.

Stubborn to a fault and singularly devoted to her well-being, he’d stated once that she’d saved his life. She’d assumed he was referring to his reassignment to her after he’d rendered medical aid on Nal Hutta. She’d requested him, Keeper had agreed, saving him from a lifetime of service on that pus oozing boil of a planet. Thel had never gone into detail other than to state that Sith Intelligence had an extensive file on his mottled past.   

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you? Run interference with the old man?” his voice grated out of his throat in a lower cast Kaasian accent as gritty as sandpaper.

Seven pulled on her jacket. “You’d probably just piss him off.”

“I do have a knack.”

“That you do. Stay here and make sure maintenance gives her the once over and see to restock.”

Thel ran his tongue over his lips. “The good whiskey this time?”

“You wish. They don’t pay me enough for the good stuff. Just take care of the ship. I have a feeling we won’t be here long.”

“Whatever you say, Agent. You take your anti-rads this morning?”

“You cluck like an old hen. Yes, I took the pills.”

He gave her a disapproving scowl. “That stealth shit’s gonna kill you one of these days.”

“This job will kill me one way or another. Stop fretting.”

“Just not ready to trade you in yet.”

She straightened the cuff of her sleeve. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Rain sluiced across her scalp and ran down her neck pooling in damp patches on the shirt she wore under her jacket. The taxi kiosk was three blocks away, she pushed on through the sheets of water and the puddles that splashed up the sides of her boots. She hated wet socks, clammy and squishing under her feet and a foregone inevitability if one walked the streets of Kaas City.

Inside the taxi, she shook her head flinging water from her hair to run in rivulets down the inside of the window, poor mimics of the deluge streaming outside. Thunder clattered and banged like window shutters caught in a high wind. Fingers of lightning promised to rip the clouds from the sky, they failed, and the oppressive overhang kept the sun at bay.

Seven suppressed a shiver as she walked down the dark corridors of the Citadel on her way to Sith Intelligence headquarters. She’d never been to the Sith Sanctum and wasn’t overly fond of Mandalorians though they maintained an enclave there.

She took a right and waited outside the door to be scanned, cataloged and verified, her entry time stamped, the absence of weapons assured. The door slid open, and she walked into the hub of secrets and whispers, faces lit by a myriad of colors reflected from monitors, the hum and whir of computers and archives blinking in wide banks along the walls. People danced around each other, datapads in hand, eyes glued to the screens, never colliding, seldom interacting. The soul of efficiency; efficiency without a soul. Funny how that works.

No one spoke to her, no greetings from colleagues, no wayward glances in her direction, no family here. The work was all that counted, a lesson she’d learned at an age when most girls were still playing with dolls. She’d never owned a doll or a toy gun or building blocks, hell she didn’t even own herself. Yeah, the Empire, lock, stock, and barrel.

She pushed her way into Keeper’s office, strode across the floor and sat down. Ballsy, not waiting for his invitation since he was big on protocol. Today, she didn’t give a shit, something he stoically ignored since they were alone. His tolerance only went so far, and she was forever testing his limits. It was a game they played, and he bent the rules as long as she produced, and she always produced something.

She crossed her legs and settled back in the chair, waiting for him to look up from his work while he piddled with bullshit just to prove who had the upper hand. The corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile at the futility of it all, but she said nothing and sat quietly until he’d made his point, moot as it was.

Keeper lifted his face, pinning her with the steely blue of his eyes. “You have something for me?”

“Don’t I always?” He quirked an eyebrow, she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Bentalle III. I already told you the safe was empty when I got there, and I did bring you a name.”

“Yes.” His lip curled as if he’d just sucked on a lemon. “Tamerlane Skavak, a low-level thug hardly worth mention.”

“I’ve seen him work and wouldn’t discount him out of hand. Remember, he was there and after Sten.”

“So, you’ve said. Escaped and now off the grid.” His stare was riddled with suspicion. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She removed the datachip and container from her jacket pocket, leaned forward and laid them on the edge of his desk. He had to rise from his seat to reach them; Seven two, Keeper zero. He’d make her pay for this, she had no doubt.

“Hmm.” He raised the container to the light. “Intel indicates that Sten had a daughter and a son, both presumed dead but never confirmed.”

“No bodies, no proof,” she said. “There may be a problem with the chip.”

“How so?” He still stared at the locks of hair.

“Password protected and I think there’s a failsafe. Don’t know if my attempt to view counted or not. Don’t know how many attempts are allowed until it fries. You need the best for this one, boss.”

He hated that term. She dropped it from time to time just to see if it still ruffled his feathers. It did. She wiped her face of all expression, suppressing the urge for a good smirk.

“You will address me as Sir or Keeper.” His monotone held more threat than a growl. “Sometimes you forget yourself.”

“Selective memory...Sir.” She held the smirk inside. “So, who gets this little gem?”

“Fixer fifteen is our best.”

“Yes, but I doubt Lokin is available, even if you could locate him.”

“Fixer forty-two is the best we have in-house. He’ll get the job done if your meddling hasn’t cocked it up already.”

“You sent me to find something. I did, and I didn’t break procedure. Bloody hell, armpit digging is not one of my favorite pastimes.”

“It’s a messy job. All for the good of the Empire,” Keeper chided. “Do you forget who you fight for?”

The smirk morphed into a sneer. “I don't fight for you or the Sith. I fight for the common people, always have, always will.”

Something fleeted across his face, caught and quickly hidden, but she saw it anyway. “Not so different from Nine,” he said.

“Except she's free and I'm not.”

That look again, he shifted his eyes. “Nine was a special case.”

“Nine had a lever and damned big one.”

His gaze pivoted back to her, lids narrowed. “There are only two ways out of this, Seven, in a box or in a cage. You knew this when you signed on.”

Her voice trickled into drops of bitterness that hung in the air between them. “I didn't sign on, I was conscripted as a child, or did you forget?”

The skin around his eyes softened. “The dirty ragamuffin pickpocket? Hardly. I saw potential and brought you home. Few of your low birth are offered such an opportunity.”

“As you constantly remind me.” A sigh of conciliation whispered through her lips. “So where to next?”

“Nar Shaddaa. Important auction. Your contact, Revas Cole. A full dossier will be sent to your datapad. Arrangements have been made for you to attend a little soiree at the Saffron Quill the evening before.”

“Saffron Quill, heady company. Cole industries, huh? Republic interests?”

“He dabbles in the Empire. Less than we’d like, more than is prudent. He’ll be bidding on a bone carving made from the middle finger of a Rancor. Symbolic, I suppose, if one looks deep enough. We need that item.”

“Why not just bid on it ourselves?”

“Budgetary constraints. Discretionary spending is not what it was, and this item will sell in the millions. Why buy what you can steal?” She tilted her head, opened her mouth to say something, he spoke before she could ask. “No, you’d never make it into the vault where it’s kept. I doubt an orbital bombardment would suffice. Best to let Cole win the bid and take it from there.”

“And you’re sure this Cole will win?”

“I have it on good authority. Make a friend. He has a weakness for redheads.”

“Bimbo? Fiery? Aloof?”

“Compliant, and lose the accent.”

She slithered from the chair, uncurling like a snake. “Understood.”

“Dye your hair, Seven,” Keeper said as she started to leave. “He’s a puller, a wig won’t do.”

She glanced over her shoulder, coy and almost shy. “What if he doesn’t like me?”   

“Make him like you, and be careful.”

She winked and closed the door.


	3. Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skavak hates disguises. Seven plays the game.

Skavak sauntered out of Club Vertica, hat pulled low, fingers of both hands stuffed into his front pockets up to the knuckles. He shouldn’t even be here, out in the open, making a few bets, barely breaking even. Easy enough to get lost in the crowd, but still, he should be back in his room, ordering room service, watching porn vids and waiting for orders. Orders. That’s what rankled the most.

He wasn’t in the mood to gamble or drink or get laid. What he was in the mood for was a shave. He yanked one hand from his pocket and swiped it over the thick brush lazing over his upper lip.  He’d grown a ‘stache before and still hated it. Kriffing lip rat caught everything, was a pain in the ass to maintain, and errant hairs poked into his nostrils triggering an annoying urge to sneeze. The ladies seemed to like it, but he damned sure wasn’t taking home any face-sitters tonight.

He glanced at his crono, three a.m., Nar Shaddaa never slept, and he was beginning to think he never would again. Ferrous had contacted him a week ago with a new vid of Ky, some spaceport, somewhere, but then they all looked the same. She had a kid with her, blonde, maybe ten or twelve. The kid said something, Ky laughed. Stars, he remembered her laugh.

Skavak slammed the lid on that box and climbed into a taxi, snarling the destination to the droid driver as he settled in for the ride. Ferrous was leading him around by the balls and using Ky as the leash. Damn the woman. All she had to do was go beyond the rim. He’d given her the means, why the hell was she still hanging around?         

He exited the taxi in Red Light District, questions stumbling through his brain like drunken soldiers on a weekend pass. The clicking whine of a security camera stopped him in his tracks. He glanced up at the device that jerked against the same spot, prevented from completing its rotation by a stripped gear or a crossed wire.

He lowered his head, hiding beneath the hat’s wide brim and continued walking, slow and deliberate, sifting through new possibilities. Public security feeds. The two vids of Ky were from public places, a market, a spaceport. Hotels, cantinas, government, and corporate buildings all had private feeds to an internal network. Public feeds often streamed to local law enforcement, the SIS, Sith Intelligence or Military factions to be run against facial recognition algorithms. That took funds, equipment, and know-how, plus it was illegal as hell outside of sanctioned agencies.

Sure, a person could slice into one city or planet’s security grid, but to gather from multiple worlds across the galaxy took some serious hardware and inhuman skill. A droid could do it, but there was always a master behind the droid. Who the hell was this Ferrous and what did he want?        

Skavak was navigating on automatic when he stepped into the carpeted reception area of the small hostel and headed toward the hallway that led to his room. It took a moment for the receptionist’s voice to break through the fog and register his assumed name.

“Mr. Barro. Mr. Barro?” The man’s nasal twang rang across the lobby.

Skavak turned and approached the desk. “Yes?”

The young man with just a hint of fine hair above his upper lip pushed an envelope across the marble top. “This was left for you earlier this evening.”

Skavak eyed the package and settled his hard gaze on the other man. “Did you see who left it?”

“A courier as far as I could tell. Young fellow, probably still in his teens.”

“Young fellow, huh?” Skavak stared pointedly at the fuzz on the other man’s face and smirked at the heat rising to the young man’s cheeks. He snagged the envelope off the counter. “Thanks.”

His room, small but neat and clean sat at the end of the second hallway, door on the left. No outside view, fine with him. He flung the envelope on the bed, sat in the chair adjacent to the nightstand and dumped the mints out of the glass bowl into the waste bin. _No smoking, my ass._ The match flared, the cigarette glowed, he sat back and waited for the high, and the call he knew was coming.

His datapad chimed, text again, go figure.

_(I trust your accommodations are suitable?)_

‘They don’t draw attention. What’s in the envelope?’

_(You haven’t opened it yet?)_

‘Nope. Wasn’t that curious.’

_(Interesting. Please open it now.)_

Skavak snuffed out the cigarette in the bowl and moved to the bed, tore the end from the envelope and shook the contents into his hand. A round disk embossed with the number thirty-two fell into his palm. He flipped it over, blank on the other side.

‘Okay, what am I looking at?’

_(An entry chit to an exclusive auction to be held tomorrow night at twenty-one hundred. I need you to attend and bid on one item, a book, ‘Homage to the Dying’ by Holanus Tenaare. Very old, very rare, first edition, written in original High Sith. The bids may go quite high, do not lose it.)_

‘What about funds? I’m sure they’ll check, and it’s likely a little rich for my blood.’

_(I’ve taken care of that, Mr. Barro. The auction will be held in the back room of Jaliss Imports in the Industrial Sector. Buy a suit and hide the tattoo. You may encounter old acquaintances there.)_

‘I guess the mustache wasn’t enough?’

_(Don’t be late. There are watchers in excess everywhere. I’ll deliver more instructions when you have the book in hand.)_

Skavak picked the cigarette stump out of the bowl and relit the crumpled end. Waste not, want not. A sonic shower, maybe some sleep and suit shopping later. Something stylish, in black with thick sleeves. He _was_ going to be rubbing elbows, after all, wouldn’t want any white trash peeking through.

#

Seven hopped down from the examination table in the med bay of her ship, the floor cold against the soles of her feet, the air from the vents ruffled the hair at the back of her neck.  

“Well?” she asked as she reached for the robe to wrap around her shoulders.

Thel checked the readouts on the scanner. “Contraceptive is viable for another three months, two and a half if you’re being extra cautious. Your implants will scrub any nasties you might pick up from lover boy.” He paused to meet her eyes. “Don’t give me that look, even the high and mighty like to go slumming.”

“My other counts ok?”

“Everything in the green but take the anti-rads for another couple days just to be sure and don’t use that damned thing unless you absolutely have to.” He gave her a stare that strafed from head to toe. “He’s gonna know you’re not natural red once he strips those bloomers off your ass.”

She quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “Not if there’s nothing to see.”

A grin split his face. “You didn’t. Show me.”

“You perverted old fart.” She punched him on the shoulder, her knuckles hitting bone. “You see entirely too much of my body as it is.”

His mouth puckered into a pout. “I live vicariously through your exploits, Seven. You must tell me all about it.”

She patted his cheek. “I’ll give you an earful when I get back.”

Wearing a forest green business suit and boots to match, she made her way through employee entrances to the landing bay where the next shuttle from the passenger ship due in from Corellia was expected. Maintain her cover, old wealthy family, girl away from home, out on her own, out of her depth. Tender young fruit seeking adventure and new experiences and ripe for the plucking.

She waited in the shadows until it was safe to blend in with the line of debarking travelers, handing her luggage over to the purser with directions to deliver it to Bu Sae. The upscale hotel where one night’s stay cost more than a month’s salary. Keeper must want his bone pretty damned bad.

A taxi delivered her to gilded doors where she walked into a lobby of striated marble floors, chandeliers, exotic plants, and rugs thicker than her mattress. Ah, the life of the other half. A few manly stares, a few womanly glares, she ignored the pedestrian interest and droll expressions, strolled to the desk and checked into her room reserved under the name of Priya Cortess. She glanced up at the crono on the wall. Three hours to showtime.

Makeup, mascara and foo-foo shit she’d never need for a straight-up assassination or infiltration lay scattered on the vanity table. Give her a body suit any day and shoes that didn’t murder her insteps. She studied herself in the mirror, setting the mask in place with a touch of Siren Red. She was nothing but the training now, expressions and gestures repeated and imprinted until they were just mindless tricks pulled from a bottomless bag. She became the role and played it well, but she didn't have to like it.

Taking a life was remote, compartmentalized, a cold mind thing, clean and done and filed away. Seduction was intimate and left a residue. A kind of slime that stuck and hardened, leaving her wrinkled and dirty like a used hanky wadded up in someone's pocket. She’d switched off her emotions a long time ago, but still, it killed a little piece of her every time. One day, there'd be nothing left.

She grabbed her purse from the table and headed for the door, rounding her shoulders just enough, keeping her eyes to the floor. Compliant, submissive, just what Keeper ordered.       

She sauntered into the Saffron Quill, an exclusive club for the ultra-rich. Fashionably late and dressed to kill, she meandered around the room. Copper and bronze lamé runneled here and there with thin red streaks the color of blood shimmered around her curves and cascaded from shoulder to floor like a metallic waterfall. Low in front, lower in back, light glittered off the gold flecks dusted across her skin. She took a flute of bubbly from one of the waiter’s trays and scanned the room for her mark over the rim of the glass. There, at the back, he’d turned to look, turned away then positioned himself so he could follow her movements without being obvious.

She locked eyes with him twice, shuttering her lids, shyly glancing away. She’d made an entrance and an offer, time to see if he was buying.

Curt nods returned to wives or mistresses, hungry male stares ignored, she moved between the shadowed areas around the edge of the room, seemingly more interested in the various paintings adorning the walls than in the patronage. Music drifted from hidden speakers in dulcet tones, her body swayed slightly to the rhythm, she stopped in a corner, studying the portrait of a man she’d never seen before.

Her back was turned to everyone, she waited. A nice-looking dark-haired man approached her from the side, halted mid-step and made an abrupt course correction. A reflection loomed over her shoulder caught in the glass covering the portrait. She smelled his cologne, felt the first hint of heat on her bare back, pivoted and bumped into his chest, splashing a dribble of champagne onto her skin. He caught the drop of liquid on his fingertip as it rolled between her breasts, held it suspended between him and her to see what she would do.

This was no screw and slice or tranq and capture. She didn’t have time for run and chase, and he wasn’t the type of man to play that game. She couldn’t afford for him to lose interest. Follow the money, follow the item and feed whatever kinks lay in his black little heart. At least he smelled good.     

His wide shoulders sheltered her from the room, she parted her lips and leaned in. He grasped her chin, slid his finger into her mouth, she sucked ever so gently, curling her tongue around the flavor of champagne and the texture of his skin. His eyes never left hers, she didn’t pull away, waiting for him to disengage. The room grew quiet, no clink of glass, no murmurs, only the music. His irises went dark. She had him.

He removed his finger slowly, dragging over her lower teeth, the pad lingering on her bottom lip. He rubbed his thumb across the crimson stain on his finger then wiped the lipstick away with a snow-white handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

“I’ve not seen you here before. I’m sure I would have noticed. Revas Cole at your service.” A thick basso rumbled from his chest with a hint of Mantellian drawl.

Self-made man, his dossier said. Ord Mantel roots, he’d come a long way by questionable means. She allowed the glass to tremble in her hand, steadying it with the other. “Priya Cortess from Corellia. My first time on Nar Shaddaa. An old family friend made the arrangements. Father would be appalled.”

“Mmm,” he hummed and snaked his arm around her waist. “Come, my dear, let me introduce you to some of my friends.”

Bankers, lawyers, corporate moguls, privateers and politicians, all with too much money and not enough scruples to fill a teacup. She smiled demurely and let him take the lead, his hand possessively at her back guiding her through his world.  

She nudged the conversation to the auction, he acquiesced to his colleagues’ gentle suggestion to bring her with him. Bright eyed and in obvious awe of his influence, she admitted she’d never been before and enthusiastically proclaimed what an honor it would be for him to escort her. Perhaps she’d bid on something herself if he would instruct her on what to do. He bestowed her with a thin smile, stroked the small of her back and fixated on her mouth.

When he invited her back to his room for a nightcap, how could she possibly refuse, he’d been so kind and attentive.

Two no-necks flanked them from the door to the limo and shadowed them in a separate vehicle to Bu Sae where he’d booked his room months in advance. Penthouse, of course. The ride back to the hotel was spent in small talk. He idly stroked her arm, held her hand, kissed the pulse point at her wrist. He wanted to seduce, she let him take the lead. The limo came to a stop where he and his entourage escorted her through the doors and to the lift that opened directly into his suite. His bodyguards disappeared behind one of the four closed doors leading to other rooms.

Her heels sank into the ivory-colored carpet when they entered, the living area. He commanded her to stop just inside the door. Pale aqua draperies offset matching settees and chairs arranged in groupings around low tables. A fireplace and built-in liquor cabinet faced each other from opposing walls. An intricately carved wooden desk stood at the far end of the room, the high back of a leather chair poking up from behind.  

She could almost hear the breathing of the bodyguards waiting to act at the least sign of threat, scanning the monitors, analyzing signals from hidden surveillance cameras. The draperies were open to the garish night display of neon signs and floating advertisements, a panoply of color providing the perfect backdrop to the scene she was positive he was recording. He’d want a memento of the conquest. Something to jack off to or maybe to blackmail a family that only existed in falsified records carefully planted in the public domain.    

He strode to the end of the room, turned to her and remained standing, leaning against the desk, his hands gripping the edges on either side of his hips. Tall, long legs, graying hair, sharp planes to his face, a cruel mouth and hard eyes beneath full dark brows. She dropped her gaze before the power of those eyes and stared at the depressions his boots had left on the rug like footprints in snow.

“Come to me dear, very slowly. I want to see you move,” his voice drizzled like hot caramel.

She walked, no swing to her hips, no exaggerations, that’s not what he wanted. He wanted purity of motion, no ploys, no games. She stopped just short of touching him, her eyes still lowered, rising from his boots to the obvious bulge in his trousers.

He gripped her hair hard and pulled her head back, traced her lips with his thumb. “Your breasts barely moved, how delightful. You have an extraordinary mouth. Beautiful.”

He kissed her then, just a taste before he pulled back and released her hair. “Freshen your lipstick. I need your mark on me.”

Seven knew this part, her implant sent a blush to her cheeks, quickened her pulse. Her breath hitched in her throat. “I’ve never...” A hint of fear mixed with excitement to feed his ego.  

His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps not, but you will tonight.”

She made a show of obeying, sliding the gloss across her lips, delicate, sensual, running her tongue along the edge of her teeth. Her clutch bag dropped soundlessly to the floor. He placed a hand on each shoulder, pressing down. When she was on her knees, chin level to his crotch, his voice drifted down to her. “I do hope you’re not a spitter.”

“Ahh,” he moaned as he finished as if simply tasting a glass of wine or a new dessert. “Well done, my dear. Thank you. Tomorrow we’ll see what other wonders await exploration.” Done with her for now, he helped her to her feet, then removed the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the lipstick from his cock. A trophy.

His semen still thick and salty at the back of her throat, she retrieved her bag and retreated slowly from the room. She carried the weight of his dismissal, the hope of his promise on shoulders slumped in obedience. Suspecting he’d watch her leave, she denied him the satisfaction of turning her head to make sure.

Back in her room, she brushed her teeth, gargled, then brushed them again. _Should have worried that I was a biter, asshole._ She stood under the shower stream, the water purifying and hot enough to turn her skin pink. Her scalp hurt where he’d gripped her hair, holding her head, setting the pace and the depth.         

He loved his power, craved it, needed it. She could rip it apart with a fingernail, and he’d never see it coming.

The next morning a single red rose was delivered to her door with a note tied to the stem: Tonight, 8 pm. The lobby. Wear something appropriate.

_Officious prick._ She tossed the rose into the waste bin.  

#

Skavak could act like a snobbish prig along with the best of them. He’d traveled in circles where one imperious gaze said it all. Only the nouveau rich waggled their tongues trying to make an impression.

He dropped the chit into the hand of one of the attendants guarding the front door against undesirables and waited for verification of the scan. One nod and an usher strode forward to present him with a sale brochure and escort him to his seat. So far, so good.

Low light ambiance, the smell of fancy cologne, expensive with vetiver, coumarin, and musk. Faint hints of lily, rose, and exotic fruits wove through the air from the few women present. He smelled like soap, preferring plain old clean to anything else.

His eyes surveyed his surroundings, rich brocades and tapestries hung from the walls, the carpet was deep plum, slightly worn but impeccably maintained, chairs upholstered in the same rich color with high backs and armrests sat in rows on both sides of a wide aisle. A low stage with a podium and linen-covered tables crossed the expanse of the far end. A sideboard with cheeses, crisp rounds of bread, wine and champagne hugged the right wall. Waiters stood at attention nearby. Security had to be someplace close but out of sight, the cameras were in plain view.

Escorted to the fourth row, second seat, he took his place, the escort snapped his fingers, a waiter strode his way. “Red wine, dry,” Skavak said and sat down in the chair with the number thirty-two pinned to the backrest.

The mustache tickled his upper lip, the adhesive of the synthskin he’d placed over the tattoo, wrinkled and stippled to emulate a burn scar, had started to itch. He’d combed his hair to the side to partially hide the fake deformity, it prickled around his ear. His trousers rode up into his crotch when he crossed his legs, not quite pinching but close. He needed a better tailor. The only thing remotely comfortable was the black silk shirt he wore under the sable colored suit jacket. He much preferred an old pair of boots and chinos that didn’t try to crush his balls.

The wine was decent, he sipped and balanced the glass on his knee watching people dribble in and take their seats. Silks, furs, thousand credit haircuts, and noses held so high they’d drown in a rainstorm. He could understand the need for power and wealth, what he couldn’t understand was putting on airs as if they didn’t piss or shit, fuck or puke just like everyone else. He made a mental game of imagining their heads centered in the reticle of a sniper scope and gently squeezing the trigger. His finger curled subconsciously around the stem of the wine glass.

He was just about to pull the trigger on the woman wearing a hat that resembled a molting bird when he was snapped back to reality. Even without the accent, he'd know that voice anywhere; sex wrapped in velvet. A voice a man could rub his cock against until he went blind.

What the hell was she doing here?

He tilted his head and glanced sidelong from under his hair at the redhead strolling by, arm locked around the elbow of a stately man, tall, elegant, graying hair, face like granite. _‘Mean S.O.B.,’_ thought Skavak, sighting his imaginary scope at the back of the man’s head. Easy, easy...bang!

The couple stopped to speak with another patron, she stood passively at the man’s side, dressed in a cream-colored suit that hugged all the right places. His arm draped across the small of her back, his fingers languished along the slope of her hip. She sidled closer, his hand slid down, an obscene stain against the curve of her ass.

Skavak settled back in his seat, a smile tugging at his mouth, enjoying the show. The woman who’d put a blaster to his skull, pulled off a headshot from further away than he’d have dared and now the fawning ingenue. A beautiful chameleon of many colors. He sank his teeth into his lower lip and wondered what else she could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bu Sae means 'The House' in Huttese.


	4. Limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven discovers more about Revas Cole than she ever wanted to know. Skavak is stuck at rock meet hard place and not happy about it.

Seven hung on Revas Cole’s arm and every word, snuggled against his body when his hand dropped to her back and lower. Her eyes, never still, moved casually around the room, sparing an uninterested glance at the mustached man with the scarred face.

 _Bloody hell!_ Disguise or not, she knew the line of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the set of his chin. The SIS or one of the Republic’s black ops spooks hot on her ass she could understand, but Skavak? Who the hell was pulling his strings and why?

The likelihood that Keeper didn’t know Skavak would be there was somehow more frightening than if he had and hadn’t told her. So, what now? If she told Keeper, Skavak would end up on someone’s kill list, maybe hers. If she didn’t tell Keeper, there’d be hell to pay once he found out, and he always found out. Dammit! Skavak disturbed her on some level she couldn’t understand, and she didn’t want him dead she just wanted him gone as far away from her as he could get.   

She floated along on automatic, letting Cole lead her to their seats where she sat in an unnumbered chair beside his with the number seven pinned to the back. What were the odds? This auction was being run by old rules, no electronic bids allowed. Nothing that could be sliced or hacked or changed to benefit any particular person. Cole leaned closer to warn her about any actions that could be misconstrued as a bid; a nod, raised finger, hand wave. If she had to use the restroom, do it now as reentry to the hall would be blocked once the bidding started.

She assured Cole she understood the rules. He patted her knee and called her his ‘good girl.’ She wanted to punch him in the throat.

The crowd went silent, the auctioneer strode to the block, ringmen took their positions to aid with detecting bids, the lights blazed to their highest settings, the first item was introduced, the auction had begun.

Seven had glanced earlier at the brochure containing only twenty-seven items. Most were smuggled artifacts from Sith or Jedi tombs scavenged by thieves or sold by archeologists with more greed than a love of science in their blood. Statues, pottery, jewelry, assorted weaponry from ages long past, a death mask of some ruler from a forgotten world, an ancient tome, and the bone carving which sat at number nineteen.

She knew what item Cole was interested in, but what about Skavak? The auctioneer barked out bids, millions of credits traded hands at each final stroke of the gavel. Item fourteen came up for sale, a beat up old book written in High Sith, and bidder thirty-two won at a cool seventeen million. She’d never pegged Skavak as the academic type and continued to wonder what the hell he was up to and who was bankrolling the missions that continued to put him in her path.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the tension rolling off Cole as his item came up for bid. Outwardly calm, he practically vibrated each time his bid was countered and raised, the vein in the side of his neck pulsing at an ever-increasing rate. Maybe he’d have a stroke. A girl can hope.

The auction ended with Cole a mere fifty-four million credits poorer and still healthy. So much for wishful thinking. He collected her and his new toy and guided her through the milling crowd. ‘Time to celebrate,’ he said, ‘something special,’ he said. A chill slithered up her spine; oh joy.    

Skavak still sat in his chair, her eyes slanted his way, he winked at her. _Cheeky bastard!_ She pretended not to notice him, but he knew. Oh, he knew. Third time was charm and what a charming package he was. Too bad unwrapping was such a messy business, and she really didn’t want to see his bright colors torn and bloody on the floor. _‘Shoo.’_ She thought. _‘Go away, annoying man. Go bother someone else.’_

Cole ignored her questions and prattle on the way back to the hotel preferring to grace her from time to time with a forced smile while his fingers drummed on the lid of the box holding his true prize. The trip to the penthouse, the breath of his bodyguards falling heavy on her neck, the closed drapes, the too dim lights boded nothing good.

She followed Cole across the expanse of the ivory carpet where he set the wooden box with the carved bone and picked up a smaller, thinner black velvet box. “I have something for you, my dear.”

Seven knew she was in trouble the second Cole’s arm whipped the scarlett ribbon from the box and like a living thing, it coiled around her neck closing with an audible click. An asphyxia collar, a nasty little toy she’d seen before on dead bodies with swollen purple faces. Banned in high-class brothels, expensive to buy, and black market knock-offs often malfunctioned; but this was Nar Shaddaa. Nobody looked too closely at after-hours kink joints or gave a shit about street whores or what went on in the world of the super-rich. Some people went too far in their drive for the ultimate sexual experience, and strangulation was an ugly way to die.

“Strip her and do a cavity search. Be thorough, then bring her to me,” Cole ordered his men as he walked toward the double doors leading to his private chambers.

‘ _What a piece of work.’_ He wasn’t worried about security or that she had teeth in her snatch; he just wanted to humiliate and, he wanted to kill.  

Seven willed tears to her eyes, she set her tone to somewhere between indignant and a whimper. “What do you think you’re doing? My father...”

Cole stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around. “Yes. Your father. I suspect he’ll look for his daughter for a long time.”

Seven cried, feebly fought back. Two hands held her, two stripped her bare. “This is gonna hurt you more than it hurts me, sweetheart,” one of the men said as she was bent over the desk, held down, legs spread.

“I’m gonna need some alone time after this,” the other man laughed as crude fingers poked and invaded and left none of her dignity intact. Seven bided her time, pleading, sobbing, playing the victim. She had to get her hands on the collar control and then all bets were off.

Yanked upright and paraded to Cole’s room, she had just enough freedom of movement to double tap one of the implant controls hidden in the deep crease behind her left ear as she was shoved unceremoniously across the threshold. The doors closed and locked behind her.

She enhanced the audio, detecting the whir of a single camera. Good, only one feed to worry about. Cole stood beside the bed in all his naked glory, his cock already half hard with anticipation. She attempted to cover herself, he leered, cruel and hungry like he was looking at a roast about to be carved into bite-size pieces.

“Come, come, my dear. It’s a sin to cover such loveliness. On the bed, now, like a good girl. Face up, legs spread, you know the position.” His voice was calm, disassociated from what he was about to do. Creepy, insane and expecting complete obedience.

When she didn’t move right away, he tapped the blue button on the control, the ribbon tightened, she gagged and stumbled forward left arm extended to ward him off. A man of power and no conscience, he’d want to subdue her, hurt her with his own hands. Oh, yeah he would, and she counted on that.

His hand closed around her wrist, twisting hard enough to bruise and depress the trigger of the needle hidden along the outer edge of the ulna. She winced as the needle separated from bone and punched through her skin, a twinge of discomfort from the compression of the tiny bladder embedded in the muscle. All part of a poison delivery system she’d primed with the implant behind her ear.

Cole hissed and drew back as if to strike her, his hand cramped into a claw, the protruding needle glistened in the light, his arm quivered and fell to his side. His legs tremored and buckled, he collapsed against the bed and slid down to the floor. She never tired of that look of surprise and disbelief that flooded a target’s eyes just before the realization hit that they were about to die. Seven didn’t always enjoy killing, but she made an exception for Cole. Her only regret was that he wouldn’t die slower.

No time to gloat, just play the role. Time to scream her ass off, performance for the camera. She backed away from Cole as he grabbed for his chest, clawed at his throat and let the controller tumble from his lax fingers. Seven snagged the device as it fell, then moved to crouch by the double doors and wait for Cole’s men to arrive. She only needed a few seconds, and she’d put an end to it all.

A momentary bout of dizziness, her implants kicked in to scrub her system clean of any foreign substance, her blood heated and rushed to her face, the double doors opened, she scooted by the men stepping inside and sprinted toward the desk. Her hand swept the hair comb from the top, she scooped her purse from the floor and tucked behind one of the couches.

A click, a tug and the frame of the purse came apart leaving her armed with two stiletto daggers. She pulled the protective covering from the tines of the hair comb exposing needles full of ‘kiss your ass goodbye’ or ‘goodnight sweet prince’ depending on which decorative stone she pressed.   

From the other room, the voices rose in anger, confusion, and a plethora of cursing. “He’s already dead, you fucking moron!” “What the hell do we do now?” “Find the bitch!” “Gonna make her scream!”

Seven went to that dead place inside where nothing internal lived. No fear, no remorse, no hesitation, clarity so crystalline it almost chimed, her breathing shallow, her heart a gentle thud, she cocked her head and listened. Everything made a noise, even shadows if you were intimate with their sounds.  

The swish of cloth, the squeak of leather, the grinding of teeth, the whistling intake of breath. A form hulked over the back of the sofa, she made a pincushion of his eye, through and to the brain. She ducked an arm, swung over the back of the couch, caught another with the heel of her foot, rolled over him and drug the comb across his face depressing the amber button. He screamed and flailed, the others halted for a second, big mistake. The one with rough hands, fingers like thick sausages, her body remembered, and she flowed with the memory. He thought he had her, she slumped like a boned fish, slipped through his hands and tagged his femoral artery with a quick in and out. Curses spurted from his mouth but not as fast as the blood spurting from his leg. _Stick your pudgy ass fingers in that, dickhead._

Three down, two to go. A blaster shot, fire pelted through her shoulder like horizontal rain. She leaped for the desk, slid across the top taking the bone box with her as she tumbled into the chair and rode it to the floor. They’d flank her, the brute still standing and the skinny one. If Thel had taught her anything, it was to never underestimate the little guy. The plasma was burning to the bone, cauterizing as it went. She tapped into her implants to numb the pain.

Brute rounded the desk, she threw the bone box at his face, he raised his hands to deflect, she buried the comb in his thigh. _Kiss your ass, buddy._

Seven snagged the blaster from his hand as he fell, scanning around for skinny ass. She didn’t see him. “Give it up, bitch. You got nowhere to go,” his voice came from a speaker. He was in one of the other rooms, likely the one with the surveillance equipment. Nar Shaddaa wasn’t big on enforcement unless the Hutts were directly affected, but they were probably on their way. She didn’t have much time.

She shimmied behind one of the barrel chairs and squatted, double tapping the bottom implant button behind her right ear. A squeal shot through her head, lousy connection and a swamp of interference. Frequencies tumbled through her brain, click, click, click, like the mandibles of a bug on stims. Finally, something clear, close and familiar. “Fixer thirty-six, who is this?”

She kept her voice barely above a whisper. “Cipher Seven, call name Street Rat, leth-four-one-one-nen. I need a distraction, and I don’t care what you have to burn to get it.”

“I read you Seven. Location?”

“Bu Sae. Law incoming. I need them not to be here.”

“Instructions clear. Big boom on its way.”

“Stay on comms. I’ll need you again.”

“Roger that.”

Seven stood up, no turrets, no laser grid. _Fuck that little shit._ She strode across the room and began firing at the lock, blast after blast until there was nothing left but charred wood and sparking wires. He’d expect her to kick the door in, she tucked and rolled, the door swung open, blaster fire scorched the carpet close to her head. She crouched behind a monitor filled desk.

“So what you gonna do now?” Skinny man’s high tenor creaked across the room.

Aw, hell. She’d always been a sucker for the little guy. “Lay down your blaster and walk away.”

“Yeah. And I’m supposed to trust you?”

“No, but...wait for it.”  

A sound drummed from a distance, reverberating through the durasteel canyons of Nar Shaddaa. It rolled and bounced and echoed off into nothing.

“Not thunder I take it?”

“No, not thunder. Drop the weapon and walk away, the offer expires soon.”

Young, sweet face, he stood and let the blaster drop from where it dangled from his index finger. “No one’s ever gonna believe I surrendered to a naked lady.”

“Probably not. I have a good memory, I’ll remember your face. Never let me see it again.”

A last show of bravado. “I’ll remember yours too.”

Her face, her eyes were like steel. “Don’t.”

Minutes were ticking, Seven had to get the item and get out, but there were things to take care of first.

She tapped into her comm. “You there Fixer?”

“Right here, Cipher. What you need?”

“Thanks for the big bang. I need a cloud wipe, anything with my face gone. Security footage at Bu Sae for the past four days, I need gone. Public feed, footage at Jaliss Import, anything that shows me with Cole. I stayed pretty close to the area, shouldn’t be too hard. Going to patch your frequency into this system. Download what you can to the barn before you do the wipe.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“You trying to stonewall me, Fixer?”

“Nah. You need a cleaner?”

“Short term, data disks and the like, nice shiny surfaces, DNA sweep. Leave the bodies on the floor. Law won’t stay away forever especially in a place like this.”

“I read you. Get outta there and back to the barn safe.”

“Backfeed and wipe when you’re done. Patching through now. Cipher out.”

Something chaffed at her neck, she’d almost forgotten the damned collar. In the living room, she donned her clothes and fished the control device out from under the sofa where she’d hidden it. Four buttons on top, the blue tightened the collar. What would the others do? Red, white and black. She slid her index finger under the silky ribbon, a fucking garotte wire, thin enough to slice through skin and bone. The wrong one pressed would remove her head. _Well, shit._

She tried her knife first, it wouldn’t cut through the wire, maybe nothing would. She studied the buttons. Red for blood, black for death, white for salvation. She ruled out white as the obvious choice...unless. Good old reverse psychology. She closed her eyes and pressed the white button. The collar released, she breathed again.

A souvenir, she stuffed the collar and controller into her purse, picked up the box with Keeper’s bone and strode into the elevator without a backward glance.

“You look like shit,” Thel said as she walked up the ramp.

“And you always know just what to say.” She patted his cheek.

“You still owe me details,” he groused and reached for her bag.

“Yes dear. I know dear. Just get us the hell off this rock.”

#

Skavak collected the book, wrapped in a protective leather cover and made his way back to the hostel, smirking now and then at throwing the woman off her feed with the wink. She pretended to ignore him, not to know him, but she knew. Oh, yes, she knew.

Stripped and in the sonic, he peeled the synthskin from his face and scrubbed at the adhesive still stuck and itching like hell. The mustache was the next to go. He stood at the sink, the razor glided, whiskers swirled down the drain and out into fucking space as far as he was concerned. The towel slid over his clean face without a hitch, nothing snagged or pulled or caught in the fibers. He grinned at himself like a fool. Not bad. Not bad at all.

The rum bottle he’d picked up somewhere during his walks in the hours he couldn’t sleep was damn near full. What a waste. He poured a short glass, turned on the vid screen and settled into the chair. Some cooking show was on, he didn’t bother to change the channel. Background noise for his wandering thoughts. His legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, slouched back, body at rest, one sip, two sips the rum lit up his veins and flavored a sigh caught at the back of his throat.

The woman tripped across his mind again, and the man she was with turned the sigh into a low growl. _Get a fucking grip._ No—something about the man was pure creep wrapped in a shell of wealth and privilege. Something in his eyes, just this side of crazy town and mean to boot. He reckoned she could take care of herself, but still, a granule of worry burrowed under Skavak’s skin, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

Another sip, and another, maybe he could numb it away. The woman’s face kept swimming to the surface of that deep, deep pool where he buried most of who he was. Her voice wrapped silken fingers around that part of him that was so easily entertained. But the man was like ice water thrown in the face of a fevered soul. Harsh, brutal, merciless, Skavak knew that type of man. The type young girls and boys ran from when he came to call in the dead of night and stalked the streets in the parts of cities where no one gave a damn, and no one heard the screams.

One more sip, one more glass, sweet maker, he didn’t have room inside his head for another box. _Stars Ky, what did you do to me?_

He pulled his boots on, rose from the chair, tucked his shirt in, slapped the hat on his head and stormed out the door. He needed to fuck someone over, or fuck someone up, or just fuck someone. Anything to make it all go away.

He didn’t see the breaking news that flashed across the screen:   

 _Revas Cole, one of the ten wealthiest men in the core worlds, found dead in his penthouse suite at Bu Sae along with four men assumed to be his personal bodyguards. No cause of death reported. No suspects in custody. Investigation ongoing. More to follow._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never quite sure about trigger warnings since I don't seem to have any triggers. If anything offended or bothered anyone, I apologize in advance.
> 
> The embedded poison delivery system is my own creation. I figured, why not.


	5. Larger Voices than You or Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes knowing isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Skavak cracked one eye open on an oddly tilted world that refused to stop blurring around the edges. His head hung halfway off the bed, the skin of his cheek stretched tight against the rough stitching of the bedspread. His lips, pulled askew, shied away from the cold, wet splotch of spittle.  Shitfaced drool, lovely. His skinned knuckles scraped across the carpet where his arm hung over the edge of the mattress. Pins and needles traveled from armpit to palm, his muscles groaned from being immobile for stars knew how long.

A muffled chiming came from somewhere between his legs and something hard vibrated against his crotch. Kriffing datapad. Whoever it was could damn well call back. He forced himself to roll over, the room spun, his tongue tasted like the last Bantha in a caravan had stopped to take a crap. He was thirsty as hell. The datapad chimed again, he bumped it off the bed with his knee.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as memories of the previous night spilled across his mind. _Ow!_ His lip split again, and his sore jaw reminded him of the fist he’d stopped with his face. He swiped the blood from his lip and smiled again. An old-fashioned bar brawl, just what the doctor ordered. He’d ducked a few, pummelled a few, busted his knuckles and some heads and drank way too much after. Hell, he didn’t even know what started it, he just wanted in after the first bottle whipped past his head. He ached all over and, damn, it felt good. He couldn’t remember coming back to his room. Best night he’d had in a long, long time.

And now he had to take a piss. His hair fell across his face as he rolled to a sitting position. He teetered when he stood and stumbled through the door of the ‘fresher, banging his shoulder on the frame. Just another bruise to add to the collection.    

He relieved himself, washed his hands and stuck his head under the faucet, the cold water cutting through the fog still hovering over the surface of his brain. His fingers tunneled through his dripping hair, slicked it back, and gingerly probed the lump on the back of his head. He didn’t recall getting smacked there. Maybe he had a concussion. Maybe he didn’t care.

The datapad chimed again. What was that phrase the Imps were so fond of? _Bloody hell?_ Yeah, that was it. Damned fine words he filed away for later use. He bent over, his blood colluding with his brain to remove the top of his skull, the telltale thud of a headache pounded the back of his eyes. Datapad in hand he stood up. Bad move. The room careened, he dropped to the edge of the mattress, pressed the receive button. _Fuck me._ Text _again._ His vision gave him the middle finger. He squinted, words formed on the screen. Not great, but at least he could make out the general shape of the words.

_(Where were you last night, Mr. Skavak? I couldn’t reach you.)_

His vision cleared slowly as he brought his fingers under control.  ‘No shit.’

_(No call to be rude. Did you get the item?)_

‘Yes.’

_(Wonderful. Passage has been booked on a freighter leaving from bay twenty-three at midnight. Be on it.)_

‘Going where?’

_(Kellneth. You should arrive in eleven days. Check into a room at the Potter’s Rim cantina and await further instruction.)_

‘We need to be done after this.’

_(Perhaps. There are nine different ways to be done, Mr. Skavak, and we are always watching for excellence. Don’t be late for your ride.)_

Skavak wanted in the worst way to throw the datapad against the wall and do a dance on its electronic innards. “Bloody fucking hell,” he grumbled. He liked the words. The Imps might be onto something after all. Midnight huh? He crawled back into bed to sleep off the remainder of his hangover. Clothes on, boots on, who gave a shit?

#

Drommund Kaas programmed, the _Hedron_ made the jump, and Seven’s battered body gave in to the pain insidiously prodding her like a bully with a stick.

“Medbay, now,” Thel ordered. “You can regale me with the details while I patch you back together.”

The overstuffed furniture at Cole’s suite hadn’t been as soft as it looked. She had a rug burn on her ass, a bruise on her hip, and a circle of purple ringed her neck in an angry thin line. Seven strode to the medbay, Thel hot on her heels. Stripped down to her undies, she hopped up on the exam table.  

“Shitty job you did on that bandage.” Thel plucked at the edges of the kolto dressing she’d hastily slapped on the blaster wound. “Lose the damned bra, I’ve seen your tits before.”

Thel unsnapped the back, slid the straps over her shoulders so she could slip the offending garment the rest of the way and drop it on the floor. Air hissed through her teeth as he tugged the bandage away from her skin, taking most of the already forming scabs with it.

Despite his less than stellar bedside manner, Thel’s fingers were deft and gentle as he cleaned, sterilized and applied fresh kolto and a dermaseal bandage. Expletives burst from his mouth or escaped in low growls with every detail she imparted to him about her time spent with Revas Cole and his bevy of goons.

“Too bad the bastard can’t be killed twice. I would have loved to introduce him to my imagination,” he grumbled while running the medscanner over her arm.

“Sometimes you scare me, old man.”

“Mhm,” he grunted. “You’ll have to get that needle replaced at the Medcenter, the poison reloaded and that implant retuned. It’s gonna hurt like hell, and I never did like the damned thing. Too risky.”

“Saved my ass. Guess something good came out of Project Protean and the genius of Eckard Lokin after all.”

“Lokin is a dangerous hack,” Thel countered while cleaning up and putting everything away in its assigned place. “Get some rest, Seven, you’ll heal faster. I can give you something for the pain and to help you sleep.”

Seven placed her feet on the floor and bent to pick up the bra. “The antibiotic was enough. You know I don’t like taking drugs, they sometimes open the door for my nightmares.”

“Offer’s still good. I’ll stay awake in case you need me.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I know.”

The tubular bone carving perched on the palm of her hand. She turned it end to end, stroked with her fingertips, hoping to find some clue in the pictographs or between the lines of stylized glyphs. The figures ran in a spiral around the circumference, intersected here and there with hair-thin fissures promising realignment if the pattern could be found. It was like looking for specific grains of sand in a desert.

Her eyes blurred with exhaustion, her mouth stretched into a yawn. She’d have Thel take a look in the morning. He liked puzzles, still did the weekly crossword and had a shelf full of old Cubitz toys and Cerean puzzle cubes he could solve with his eyes closed.

#

Skavak emerged from the sonic, brushed his teeth, got dressed and glanced at the bedside chrono. Eight-fifteen p.m. He had time. The book slid easily from the protective leather envelope, its weight hefty, the scrawl of embossed letters gleamed from the cover. He leafed through the pages, yellowed with age, almost brittle to the touch. With the hands of a lover, he stroked his fingers across the paper, the texture, the writing whispered to him of things long dead and the screams of dying men lost to the winds of time. The endpapers contained plates of scenes, a battlefield, a man with a cape, a setting sun at his back, spaceships raining fire, a lightsaber duel. The pasted down endpapers were secure, flat, no bulges, no loose corners. A musty odor rose from the leather binding as he closed the book and inspected the hinge and spine that bulged a little too much down the center. A telltale wrinkle running from head to tail revealed that something was hidden inside.

A small slit was all he needed, the tip of his boot knife, sharp and thin as a scalpal slid along the top, his thumbnail pushed up against the bottom of the bulge. A little more, a little more, the leading edge of a strip of microfilm emerged just enough for him to grip and pull out. He continued working pulling a second, third, fourth strip from the spine. Even holding the medium up to the light, the images were much too tiny to read. He’d need a machine and knew just where to go.

Rasto Mang, pawn shop owner, and underworld fence cocked an eyebrow and lowered his hand to the scattergun he had taped under the counter. “I’ll be damned. I thought you were dead.” He eyed Skavak suspiciously and watched every move as the man sauntered across the floor.

Skavak kept his hand away from his weapon, the other hung at his side, fist closed around the handle of his duffel. “Not yet and I’m not here for trouble. I need to use a machine I’m pretty sure you’ve got stashed away in that backroom of yours.”      

“Nobody uses shit in my shop. You buy it or rent it. Rules don’t change. So what you need?”

Four hundred credits lighter in his account, Skavak sat at the reader and fed the strips through one at a time. Schematics for a device displayed across the screen. A signal enhancer or disruptor, mention of hyperwave transceivers, S-threads, mounting instructions, frequencies for optimal output. The fucking Holonet. _Shit!_

Communications disruption and galactic chaos equaled big profits for people like him. The war machine, governments, commerce would come to a screeching halt. Collateral damage would be massive, and who would be on top when the dust settled?

_Choose a side. Deliver or cut and run._ Running would be the smart thing to do except for one thing. A dark-haired woman with eyes the color of spiced rum. He’d never see her again and couldn’t imagine her dead. _Damn._ He stuffed all but one of the strips back into the book spine, tucked the other inside his jacket, found a sealant to hide the slit he’d made and strode out of the pawn shop. He had a freighter to catch.

#

“Revas Cole was not sanctioned for termination.” Keeper leaned over his desk, arms rod straight, hands splayed across the top. “You’ve left a vacuum, and the resulting power struggles are already sending ripples through the Empire.”

“Tell my neck that. The man was an animal. Besides, didn’t his interests lean more toward the Republic?”

“Men of power don’t just play on one side of the board.” He straightened, tugged the bottom of his jacket and sat down. “What’s done is done. We’ll do as much damage control as we can. I take it you brought the item?”

She strode forward and sat the wooden box down on his desk with a little more force than was necessary. The thud reverberated up her arm, she didn’t step back but hovered where she was, looking down on him with unreadable eyes.

“Emperor’s balls, Seven. Sit down.” Keeper reached for the box, tipped the lid up and lifted what was inside.

“You’ve opened it.” Keeper studied the key held in the grip of his forefinger and thumb.

“Thel did on the way here. He’s very good with puzzles, and I thought it would save time.”

Keeper was stoic, pragmatic, emotionless, with a highly ordered mind and yet the dark shadow of something weighed heavy on his broad shoulders as he inspected the key. A hint of concern lingered in the lines that bracketed his mouth. 

“Begging your pardon, Sir, but what’s really going on?”

He took a deep breath, laid the key on his desk and settled back in his chair. “Recording off, protocol black, activate jammer, verify code: Keeper six-two-Zerek-four-eight-Trill.”

Elbows on armrests and fingers steepled in front of his mouth, Keeper stared at his desk and began. “Cipher Ten is four days overdue for his check-in. We’ve lost contact with two fourth-year agents, and fixer sixty-one has gone silent. Something is going on out there, and we need to find out what.”

_Bloody hell._ Ten. She knew him, had slept with him a couple of times to pass an evening or blow off steam. Nothing emotional, just bodywork with someone who understood the rules. Blonde, green-eyed with dimples that went on forever in a face that would break your heart, if you had one. She wasn’t quite sure what to feel. “We’ve lost people before.”

“Yes, but not like this in so short a time.”

“You think this key is involved?”

“Ten was looking into some ear to the ground rumblings about a new player. Men of means, high stakes, hostile takeovers. Ruin an economy, ruin an Empire.”

“Or a Republic,” she added.

He tapped the spire of his fingers against his lips. “The galaxy runs on credit, Seven, a fact most don’t understand. No matter how much we raise taxes, bleed the people, conquer new worlds, it’s never enough. Contrary to myth and popular belief, the Emperor did not step onto this planet, wave his arms and Kaas City magically appeared. Everything takes funds, even the beginning of an Empire. The initials engraved on this key and information gleaned from a hidden file on the datachip you found on Sten all point to Haldis Burnn.”

“I don’t recognize that name.”

“Burnn came out of nowhere. Not a Sith, not a military man, but a financier willing to invest in the rebuilding of the Sith Empire. All he asked in return was the issuance of government-backed bearer bonds with no maturity date. The Empire grew, along with its debt piled up in war after damnable war. The Emperor grew afraid of financial collapse and ordered Burnn’s home and holdings bombed out of existence, all known finances seized. The bonds were thought to have been destroyed along with Burrn’s bloodline. I am not so sure.”

“Surely the damage they could do after all this time would be minimal.”

“Those bonds would have a value in the trillions of credits, perhaps more. If redeemed, they would bankrupt the Empire’s reserves, the Banks of Dromund Kaas and New Adasta. We’d be unable to repay our debt to the banking clans and guilds; the Imperial Stock Exchange would implode. Everything would come to a halt. There would be rioting in the streets, manufacturing would cease, there’d be food shortages not to mention our troops would mutiny from lack of payment.”   

“And what does this have to do with Ten’s disappearance?”

“Word has reached us that SIS agents are missing also. It appears we are under attack from multiple angles. The Empire is overextended, the Republic in disarray, the Jedi cannot hold, and the Sith are too busy infighting. If we or the SIS are taken out of the equation, balance is lost, and it all falls apart. Information is power, the only power that can offset this threat. Without it, everything spins blindly out of control.”

Seven scrubbed her fingers across her forehead. “So, what do you need from me?”

“Take the key and scour Burnn’s world for a hidden vault, anything this key might access. But first, one of our snitches has brought word that Mr. Skavak will be on Kellneth. Find him, find out what he knows, then eliminate him. The kill order is sanctioned, do not spare him this time.”

Seven kept her face impassive despite her racing heart. “Understood. Does this new player have a name?”

“All I know is the name Camarilla, an old word for ‘little chamber’ or men of power behind the throne. They secretly pull the levers that move kingdoms.” He pinned her with haunted eyes and a weariness she’d never seen before. “Put an end to this, Seven. For the Empire, and your common man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm likely walking out on a very thin limb, but not every threat has to be lightsabers. One way or another, it's always about power. Guess we'll see how I can pull it all together.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.


	6. Pinned Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven faces some uncomfortable truths. Skavak's in over his head.

Thel walked into the galley where Seven sat hunched over her half-eaten breakfast and a cooling cup of caf. Fork in hand, she stared at the plate as if poised to stab the first piece of food that tried to make a run for it.

He poured himself a cup and stood on the opposite side of the counter, scowling at her lack of interest in his presence. “Alright, out with it. You’ve been moping around like someone just filleted your pet gizka and served it up for dinner.”  

The fork clattered to the plate, and Seven looked at him with smoke gray eyes gone dark with lack of sleep and worry. “I’m fine. My arm aches a bit, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s the biggest pile of dung you’ve ever tried to feed me in one sitting,” he huffed. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Her eyebrows jerked up. “What?”

“Don’t play stupid with me. The sanction. This man Skavak. It bothers you.”

She swatted his concern away with a wave of her hand. “It’s what I do. It’s the job. I don’t even know him.”

“Oh, you know him. He’s the flip side of your coin, girl and you ain’t been the same since Semona.”

She lifted the mug and grimaced at the bitter taste of cold caf washing across her tongue. “Now who’s shoveling nerf shit?” She raised one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “It just feels wrong. Something in my gut says he has a part to play in all of this. He knows something I need to know, but he doesn’t deserve to die for it.”

“Maybe not. Give it some time, Seven. The answers will come. They always do.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” She pushed herself away from the counter and rose to walk out, stopping just before she reached the door. “You know me too well, old man. Normally I don’t blink, but I think this one will haunt me when I see the life drain out of his eyes.”

Thel watched her retreating back over the rim of his mug. _‘She’s in trouble, and she doesn’t even know it.’_

#

Lorika Sten-Burnn shoved the door of the Bank of Aargau open and stepped into the afternoon sun. A light breeze swept her wheat-colored hair away from her face, a scowl marred the smooth surface of her forehead and weighted the corners of her mouth into a frown.    

A second set of footsteps joined hers as she strolled across the plaza. “Why so glum, dear? You have the items?”

“Only one,” she barked and held up a key. “We missed the other by a month.”

“How can this be?” The man gripped her elbow, pulling her up short. “The clues pointed to this place.”

“If your ancestor hadn’t been so damned cryptic in his journals, we would have had what we needed already. Blast the Bankers and their rules. They had no right to arbitrarily clean out the vault regardless of how long it had sat untouched. We would have lost this one too in another few weeks.”

“Did you find out where our property went?”

“Sold in a lot to Jaliss Imports on Nar Shaddaa. The fools!”

“There, there, darling. We’ll find out where our item has gone and get it back. I can be very persuasive, and at least we’ll have our book.” A chuckle slipped past the lips of the man standing at her side. “Wouldn’t it be funny if the bone carving were sold at the same auction?”                       

“I fail to see the irony, Tynon,” she huffed and tucked the key inside her purse. “I take it our...guest has made arrangements with that detestable rogue for the handoff of the book?”

“Yes, it’s taken care of. Of course, we’ll have no more need of the scoundrel after this. Loose ends will be tied up accordingly, our men have already been dispatched.”

“Hmm,” Lorika hummed, her eyes narrowed with thought. “And you’re sure our guest hasn’t been able to send any hidden cries for help? He’s much too canny for his own good, and something about his calm exterior unnerves me.”

“His transmissions are monitored, and soon his usefulness will reach its end as well.” Tynon hooked her arm through his and continued to walk. “Don’t worry, my pet. Our plans unfold as they must. Come, the others are expecting us.”     

#

Skavak walked down the ramp of the freighter with a sigh of relief that lasted all of two seconds. Nobody came to Kellneth except freight haulers and slavers dropping off their miserable cargo that would be dead of disease or starvation in less than a year. He’d spent the last eleven days with the stench of unwashed bodies wallowing in their own filth. Nothing could be worse. He was wrong.

The air of the mining and industrial world slapped him in the face like a fevered hand that had wiped its ass without paper. In the distance, smelting plants belched plumes of fire and smoke, and the smell of heated slag, sulfur and ozone hung in the smog that blanketed the planet like a dirty cape. A gritty film lined his nostrils, settled on his hair and skin, and permeated the fabric of his clothes. He turned his back on the lines of hunched and manacled slaves being marched from the bowels of the ship. Their chains sang a dirge for the men and women who carried death in their eyes like a savior. He’d done some pretty nasty things in his life, but slaving had lost its allure after only two runs. Assassinations were more merciful than what these poor sods faced and fleecing the rich was a hell of a lot more fun. He squared his shoulders and walked away.

The Potter’s Rim cantina sat in a mixed warehouse and residential district on the edge of the spaceport. It did a booming business with cargo pilots, spacers and the locals who wanted to escape their dingy lives in the bottom of a glass. Customer voices buzzed, and jukebox music blasted out a beat across an empty dancefloor, the joint was half full when Skavak entered. The Bothan barkeep swiped a towel over the polished surface and gave Skavak a quick nod. Long in the tooth, sharp eyes that missed nothing, and the tip of his left ear gone; scars crisscrossed his face like seams in a patchwork quilt. Life was never shy about kicking the shit out of someone and the Bothan bore the marks of not staying down.

“What’ll ya have,” the Bothan asked through a toothy grin that flashed from the side of his mouth that still worked.

Skavak leaned against the bar, not taking a seat. “Rum and a room.”

“Light or dark?”

“Mahogany with a touch of amber and a key to something with clean sheets. I’ll take the bottle with me.”

The barkeep grabbed a bottle from the shelves behind him and slid it toward Skavak. “Hotel is through that archway at the back. Register with Hilde at the desk. She’ll give you checkout times and establishment rules, not that anyone enforces them. Damage is the exception. You break it, you bought it.”

Skavak dropped a twenty-credit chip on the bar, grabbed the bottle and turned to walk away. “Nice doing business with you... Mister?” The Bothan’s question hung between them. “Barro,” Skavak threw over his shoulder. “Uh-huh,” the Bothan snorted and went back to cleaning the bar top.    

Hilde, the desk clerk, handed him the keycard and rattled off the rules in a bored monologue. She gave him a dour look of dismissal and went back to reading whatever trash she’d downloaded to her datapad, the gum she chewed like cud popping between her teeth.

The room smelled of disinfectant and musty air blown through a system long overdue for a filter change. Skavak dropped his duffel on the bed that squeaked under the weight, threw his jacket over the chair and retrieved a glass sitting on the nightstand. ‘ _Disinfected and sealed for your safety,’_ the red sticker declared before it crumpled in his hands along with the clear wrapper. Skavak settled into the chair and poured a long shot into the glass. The rum trickled down his throat, he leaned back, stretched his legs and waited for the datapad to chime. A thought that had nagged at him came back into play, and he was about to call Ferrous on his shit.

A third of a bottle later, the datapad finally came to life.

_(I hope your trip was a pleasant one.)_

‘Skip the niceties. I’m here.’

_(So you are. I have instructions. Are you ready?)_

‘First I want to know about Ky. No recent vids to show me. You’ve lost her, haven’t you?’  

_(You’ve already crawled in bed with me, Mr. Skavak. I may need help fluffing the pillows and warming the lube.)_

_Smarmy sonofabitch._ ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, slick. You might hurt something.’

_(Her ship was spotted not two days ago on the rim of wild space. She’s not safe yet.)_

‘Ok. What do I do with the book?’

_(Go to the cantina tomorrow night at 11, book in hand. Sit at a booth in the back. Further instructions will be delivered. Follow the orders to the letter.)_

‘Last time, Ferrous. We’re done after this.’

_(You’re face down and spread-eagled, Mr. Skavak. Watch your back. Expect me to be in touch.)_

The creep factor shot a chill down Skavak’s spine, and the threat or the warning did little to quell the alarms going off in his head. He didn’t like being played and figured Ky had dropped off the grid but couldn’t take that chance, so he had some leverage tucked away in his jacket pocket, just in case. A dangerous gamble, but he could play the hostage game too. Two things he knew for sure. He wouldn’t be drinking anymore tonight, and he damned sure wasn’t going to get any sleep.

#

Seven and Thel had taken shifts for two days watching the incoming ships, waiting for Skavak to arrive. Of all the shitholes in the galaxy, she’d never expected to set foot on this grimy ball of sludge again. A little over three years ago she’d tracked a smuggler with the unhealthy habit of running blockades around certain installations of value to the Empire. His trail led to Kellneth where he refused to see the error of his ways. The body would never be found.

Patience was a virtue Seven had mastered as a second level agent. She’d sat for hours analyzing data or perched on girders and beams hardly wider than her hand, ticking off the details one by one to take the perfect shot. Patience, sorely tested now as she blended in with passersby, strolled the litter-lined causeways between landing pads, and haunted the corners of the local cantina waiting for one man.

She followed the circuitous path by rote, eyes active, her mind tapping out ideas in syncopation with her steps. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what power anyone could hold over a man like Skavak that allowed them to dictate his every move. From what she knew, money greased his wheels, but not enough to bend over for. What did he know? What was in the book? Who was yanking his chain? The man would break, but he wouldn’t break easy, and Thel was a virtuoso in the artistry of tearing a man down to blood and truth. Pictures warred inside her head; Skavak smiling, winking—Skavak bleeding, dying. Some days she hated her job and hated Keeper just a little bit more.

Somewhere deep inside she hoped he wouldn’t show, hoped he’d lived up to his reputation, betrayed his comrades and disappeared. Her hopes flagged, stuttered and died when she saw him emerge from the freighter. His faced scrunched against the smell she’d gone nose blind to. _Adorable._ Thanks, unwanted random thought. She pulled up her collar, tucked her chin, and ducked into the midst of a group of laborers on their way to the cantina. Skavak was a few yards in front, headed in the same direction. He needed a room. She needed to wait.

#

Skavak jerked awake, blinked the sleep from his eyes, and pushed himself upright in the chair. His neck was cricked, his back stiff and his hips ached like he’d been sitting on duracrete. He gave a sideways glance to the chrono on the nightstand. Damn, 4:17 am. Local time. Space lag and rum, never a good combination. It wasn’t until he raised his hands to grab the armrests and hoist himself to his feet that he realized his fingers still gripped the rim of the glass like a claw. Never spilled a drop. Damn, he was a talented man. He lifted the glass and tipped back to drain it dry, before setting in on the nightstand and dragging himself to his feet. His joints popped in protest, and his stomach growled its displeasure.

The lobby was deserted except for a drowsy-eyed Cathar sitting behind the desk who watched him with a disinterested calm. “Bar’s closed,” the Cathar said. “It’s not safe for an off-worlder this time of night if you’re thinking of going out. You want booze? The cantina opens at ten. You want food? We got an automat. Don’t eat anything that’s not factory wrapped unless you want to spend the next three days puking and shitting your guts out.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Skavak strolled over to the vending machine. “Energy bars it is.”

Time dragged and moved too fast, that spatial anomaly that occurred when one was moving toward something they dreaded and yet couldn’t wait to get it over with. Skavak paced his room, ate lunch and dinner at the bar, knew he was being watched yet failed to notice the skinny auburn-haired man who tracked his whereabouts most of the day.

Ten-fifteen p.m., Skavak checked the gas cylinders in his blaster and the holdout he snugged into his boot, donned his jacket, tucked the book under his arm and made his way to the cantina. He slid into the back-corner booth with an unobstructed view of the front entrance, ideal for checking out the clientele and detecting trouble before it ever reached him.

The glass of rum sat untouched, guffaws and hearty backslaps took laps around the room on the tail end of the driving beat from the jukebox. Twice he rejected the advances of women offering company for the night, mostly, he was left alone.

Eleven on the dot, a young fellow, barely out of his teens, baby fat newly burned from his cheeks and out of his body, strode toward the booth where Skavak sat. No jitters, hard times kills the nerves of the young fast, he reached inside his jacket. Skavak laid his blaster on the table, muzzle pointed at the kid’s future family plans. The kid never blinked. _This one won’t see thirty._

“Woman paid me to deliver this.” The kid dropped an envelope on the table. “It’s delivered.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Skavak left his blaster where it was and removed a folded square of flimsi from the envelope. A crude map with the cantina as a starting point, straight lines, ninety degree turns left and right, and an X at the destination was drawn over scrawling words. _‘Meet me here. I’ll be wearing a silver rose in my lapel. Bring the book.’_

Skavak slid the blaster into the holster and scanned the room. Every face was the face of the enemy, and he was already in too deep with no escape route. The note stunk of trap, and he was voluntarily putting his foot on the spring plate. He lifted the glass in a toast to fate, the bitch that’d been trying to kill him since the day he was born. “Bring it,” he snarled and downed the dark amber liquid in one long gulp.

Late night, few pedestrians out and about, disappearing completely as he walked deeper into the night. A smattering of perimeter lights beamed their false security from around the warehouses. He hung in the places where the light couldn’t reach, ears tuned to catch every sound, the pattering of tiny rat feet, a growl followed by a squeak, dinner served.                

Skavak rounded the last corner and stopped. Up ahead, bathed in light, a woman stood, hands on hips, toe tapping impatiently on the pavement, a single strap over her shoulder held a satchel that dangled at her side. “About time, Mr. Skavak. Shall we complete this transaction and both be on our way? As you can see, I’m unarmed.”

“Which doesn’t mean shit,” he called back. “But I’m ready for this to be over.”

“As am I. Please proceed, both hands on the book, arms extended in front. I’ll take the package, and you’re free to go.”

Book balanced between both hands, Skavak strode forward, every hair on the back of his neck standing at attention. The woman grew in size the closer he came, shoulders nearly as broad as his, masculine jaw, beady dark eyes and thighs that could crush a man’s skull. A silver rose pinned to her lapel glimmered in the light, he stopped an arm’s length away.

With a nod, she removed the book from his hands, dropped it into the satchel and turned as if to leave. He didn’t even have time to breathe a sigh of relief before she swung around, grasped his wrist, pulled him in close, her free arm beelining toward his neck.

From nowhere a glint of metal flew between him and the woman, she yelped in pain, released her hold, he dropped and dove behind a stack of cargo crates. The woman shimmered and disappeared. Sonofabitch. A stealth generator.

His ear stung, he raised his hand, his fingertips came away bloody.

“Are you hurt, Mr. Skavak?” Damn. That voice dripped like honey out of the darkness.

“Just nicked my ear. I think you missed.”

“If I’d missed, you’d be dead.”

“Uh-huh. So, what now?”

Silence. Maybe she was gone. He poked his head over the edge of one of the crates, heard the whine from up above, ducked down as a blaster bolt careened through the space recently occupied by his head. Blaster in hand, options flew through his mind, none of them promising. He was pinned and sooner or later they’d tire of waiting and come for him.

He damn near jumped back into the line of fire when her voice drifted to him from the other side of the crates he was hiding behind. “I need you to do something for me, Mr. Skavak.”

“Little preoccupied at the moment.”

“I’m coming around the crates to your side. They won’t see me. Please don’t shoot. I’m your only way out of this. I can help.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

The oily caress of her cloaking shield skimmed over his body. A thousand tiny digits pricked at his skin. Her voice came smooth and calm into his ear. “Cup your hands. I need a boost to the window sill just over our heads. The crates aren’t high enough for me to make the jump.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“No. I need to get to the roof. From the window, I can make my way across the studs to that pipe. A quick up and down, they won’t expect that from you, and put some muscle into it.”

“And what do I do while you’re up there?”

“Potshots. Up and down the street, up toward the roof.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing cause if I die, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

“You already do, Mr. Skavak. On three.”

Whatever the hell that meant. He laid his blaster on the ground and laced his fingers together. The sole of a boot in his hands, he started the count. “One-two-three.” He rose from cover, putting everything he had into the slingshot of his arms rising above his head. He dropped behind the crate, picked up his blaster, and fired blindly into the night.


	7. All Trussed Up and No Place to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skavak tries to figure the angles, but then, so does Seven.

Seven’s fingers crimped over the window sill, her weight dangling from the tips bent to her second knuckle. She shimmied to the right, gauged the distance to the nearest stud and using her body as a pendulum, swung out and let go. _‘Don’t lose momentum’_ her mind scolded around the ache in her forearm where the newly inserted death needle was still binding to the bone. Out and up, out and up, the pipe grew nearer, just one more swing and her hand wrapped over the edge of the clamp securing the pipe to the building. Sharper than she’d counted on, the metal bit into the crease where fingers met palm, she winced and ignored the warm trickle of blood.

She glanced down for a second to see intermittent blaster bolts bursting from where she’d left Skavak. The assailants would move soon—she had to move faster. With a deep intake of air, she started to climb, easier now that she had purchase for her feet.

Hand up, leg up, push, pull, she finally reached the top and eased herself over the edge. She shook the cramp traveling from pinky to elbow out of her arm and willed away the headache that thumped the backs of her eyes. Muzzle flash marked locations, two on this side four on the other, she pulled her knife, set her legs and crept forward. Exposed flesh, neck high, pale and vulnerable, the blade hissed, the man was dead before she lowered his body to the floor.

Forward again, so close, something crunched under her foot, the man turned, the blade sunk in under his chin, the edge a dull glint through the round O of his mouth. She caught the rifle as he fell and laid it across his body before moving on. No scope, what a pity, she could have used that. His employer should have given him better tools.

She peered over the rim of the roof, searching for a way across to the other side. Three feet below a cable strung from one building to the other, roughly a tenth of a meter wide; she could do this. She dropped over the side, turned and gained her balance against the building at her back, the cable wobbled under her feet. No time to take time, isn’t that always the way? Arms outstretched for counterbalance, she glided forward, letting her legs and hips follow the slight swinging of the cable, keeping her upper body stable over her center of gravity.

More blaster fire, a grunt, and curse from below; Skavak had been hit. The sounds of movement on the roof. Fuck caution. She sprinted, one foot striking in front of the other, leaping when the wall solidified ahead, scrambling over the edge. Stealth would ensure she’d get one, then drop the shield and hope the dark was still her friend.

The rooftop men were already on the move, she slid behind the last in line, yanked his head back, sliced across his throat, warm blood spattered on her face. The body dropped with a thud.

“What the...” blurted out of the shadows, three pale faces turned to look. Seven deactivated the shield, dead man’s rifle locked into her shoulder, the barrel aimed, trigger pulled, one pale face drifted down like a deflated balloon.

Two plasma bolts ripped through the air, piercing empty space where she’d just been. “Run while you can,” she growled, then dropped, rolled and activated her stealth field. It was over quick. _‘Men,’_ she thought as she stepped over the two bodies, ‘ _they never listen.’_

Seven disengaged the stealth generator again and enhanced her aural implant. A shuffling of footsteps light on the pavement, she glanced over the edge of the roof. Skavak was on the move.

 _‘Oh, you silly man.’_ She primed the wrist launcher and shot the tranq dart into one cheek of his ass. She heard him utter, “you bitch” just before his lights went out.

She fished her commlink out of the pouch on her utility belt and made the call. “Cleanup on aisle seven,” she murmured. “Bring a blanket.”

“On my way,” answered Thel. “I’ll follow your link signal.”

A fire escape on the far side of the building supplied her way down. If only she’d had time to look for it earlier, but nothing in her life ever went that easy.

Skavak lay on the pavement, face down, arms caught under the weight of his body. She rolled him over, smoothed the hair back from his forehead before she’d thought about what she was doing and yanked her hand away in a surge of bewilderment. The pulse in his wrist beat steady and strong. She settled back on her haunches to wait.

Thel rounded the corner on the old snub-nosed Meirm speeder they kept in the cargo bay and stopped an arm’s length from Skavak’s head. Dismounting, he unrolled the blanket by the side of the downed man and squatted to slip his hands under Skavak’s armpits. “A little help here,” he groused at Seven.

“Yeah, sure.” She grabbed Skavak’s legs and helped lift him to the edge of the blanket.

“All wrapped up like the gooey center of one of them fancy pastries.” Thel stood up and dusted his hands off on his pants. “Let’s get him back to the ship and see what spills out.”

They placed Skavak on one of the beds in the medbay, jacket and shirt stripped and shoulder wound tended and bound. His chest rose and fell in a hypnotic rhythm under the sheet.

Thel studied Seven, noting the thin sheen of sweat, the drawn lines of her eyes and mouth, the paleness of her skin. “You just had to use that damned thing again, didn’t you?”

Seven shifted her gaze. “I didn’t have a choice. He’d be dead if I hadn’t.”

Thel shuffled through a drawer in one of the cabinets and turned with hypospray and bottle in hand. “You need to be damned sure just what exactly it is you were trying to save.”

“Don’t start with me. He has something I need.”

“Well, that’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Thel huffed.

“Just give me the damned shot and pills and stop nagging.” She gave Thel her best thousand-yard stare. “And if you knock me out, so help me...”

Thel tipped his hands up. “Wouldn’t think of it. Now, hold still.”

The injection stung, the pills went down bitter and hard. “Get us the hell off this planet. I’ll stay and keep watch.”

“No surprise there.”

“Enough!” She dropped into the chair, locked the magnetic wheels to the metal floor, and settled in for the ride.

#

A buzzing in his ears, faint and insistent, pulled Skavak back to the surface of the drug-induced undertow he’d been caught in. His mind flailed against being sucked under again, up and up it swam into blinding light. He tried to move, his right arm snagged on something circled tight around his wrist, his eyes watered, his fingers prickled at the end of his arm. His tongue peeled off the roof of his mouth, no moisture but he licked his lips anyway and relaxed into the mattress and pillow to wait until his mind wasn’t a pile of mush. He was alive, and that was always a dandy place to start.

He replayed what he knew to this point; the alley, the silver rose woman, the knife, the nicked ear, the honey voice woman, rifle fire, the tranq in his ass. ‘ _Sonofabitch, she did it again.’_ A milder dose, sure, but this was getting to be a habit.

He tested the cuff around his wrist, magnetically locked to the bed frame. His eyes noted the keypad, scanned the room for anything he could jam into the mechanism to set himself free. They stopped on the woman dozing in the chair, her coffee brown hair falling around her face, so familiar and yet a million light years away.

Her eyes snapped open, locked with his. In those few moments when the brain is still sleep-addled, all the defenses go down. Her eyes glimmered naked and vulnerable, lost, sad. Alarm seared across her face, he was snared in the moment. Consternation creased her brow, he looked away; she felt it, he felt it. _‘Fuck me running.’_ Her walls came up, his slammed down. Better. Distant. Safe.

She stood and approached the bed. “I see you’re awake.”

He jiggled the cuff. “If you wanted me at your mercy, all you had to do was ask.”

A smile tugged at her lips, but she never let it form. “Charming, but we have some rules to establish before I set you free.”

“Such as? We’re on a ship, in hyperspace from the feel of it, where the hell do you think I’m going to go?”

“Exactly, but your reputation doesn’t breed a feeling of trust. I need you to understand your tricks won’t work here.”

“And what tricks would you be referring to?”

She tilted her head. “All of them.”

Footsteps sounded at the door, and Skavak glanced at the man who entered and halted at the woman’s side. He appraised the man from boots to pate, but looks can be deceiving; skinny little shit, hardly worth notice except for the calculating eyes with a side of murder.

She reinforced what he’d already guessed. “Don’t underestimate Thel or be fooled by his stature. He would have you down and incapacitated before you could blink.”

Skavak turned his head back toward the ceiling. “Alright. Where do we go from here?”

“I need something. You need something. We’ve been thrown together too many times to be coincidence, and I think we both need answers. Mutual cooperation serves both our interests.”  

He shifted his gaze back to her, fell into his comfort zone of devilry and snark. “I see. You’ll show me yours if I show you mine?”

She frowned. “In a manner of speaking. I want an end to this, and it might be wise to consolidate our efforts until we see this through. Of course, I could drop you off at the next spaceport, and you can be on your way, but know this; there’s more than one sanction against your life.”

He let that sink in. Awareness of the implications dawned with a fatal glow and teetered on a tripping heart at the realization of just how much trouble he was in. She’d gone against a kill order and let him live. The overwhelming question now was—why? Once he figured that out, he’d know how to play the game.

Her voice cut into his thoughts. “What’s it going to be, Mr. Skavak?”

“First, stop calling me Mister, it’s making me feel old. Skavak will do fine. Second, I agree. We see this thing through then go our separate ways. Third, I need something to drink, a new shirt and food. I’m starving.”

She turned to the auburn-haired man. “Thel, go scrounge around and see if you can find Skavak a shirt then see if you can get that droid to set something up in the galley. Don’t fret, I’ll be fine.”

No sooner had she released the cuff than he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down to him, his voice a whispered growl. “I don’t like working with Imperials, even ones that look like you. It’s never worked out well for me.”

He watched her reaction, felt her pulse quicken then slow under his fingers, her face gave nothing away. “So much for gratitude, I did save your life. And, for the record, I don’t like working with reprobates, but here we are. Please let go before I break something. I truly don’t want to hurt you.”

His fingers released her followed by a single word. “Why?”

She rubbed her wrist and stepped back. “You asked me that before, and I’m still pondering the answer. Follow me please.”

Skavak trailed behind the woman as she requested. Hell, he hadn’t even asked her name. His gaze settled on the sway of her hips, drifted down to her thighs and up to her back and shoulders. Damn, she was small, not short but a tight, compact package, a spring wound and primed and ready to recoil. Her dark hair bounced along her shoulders, reminding him of a past he could never relive. He altered his attention to the ship, old freighter, not what he expected, but then, neither was she. Sweet Maker, what had he gotten himself into this time?

He was already cold by the time they entered the galley, gooseflesh pimpled his skin, and he fought the natural inclination to shiver. She must have noticed and yelled down the corridor, “Thel, hurry up with that shirt.”

The droid puttered back and forth between the conservator and the counter, laying out a spread of meats, cheeses, bread, cut fruits, and vegetables. His stomach grumbled. “Take a seat,” she said. He slid onto one of the stools and asked the droid for a glass of water which he gulped down and asked for another.

Thel threw a shirt at him from the doorway, then proceeded into the galley to stand at the end of the counter, staring daggers, keeping watch. Skavak was in hostile territory and not stupid enough to be goaded. He thanked the man and pulled the shirt over his head, wincing as the shoulder bandage pulled and his muscles tightened. The woman reached over and tugged the back down so he wouldn’t have to. As prison’s went, this wasn’t so bad. Not yet anyway.

The first sandwich went down without a sound, he talked around mouthfuls of the second, uttering questions after each swallow. First things first. “Hardly seems fair I don’t know your name.”

She’d moved her food around on her plate like game pieces, not much making its way into her mouth, seemingly content with watching him fill his. “Seven,” she answered.

He knew what it meant as soon as she said it, the sandwich going sour in his stomach. Sith Intelligence. _Shit_. He tried to make light of it, while his brain cycled through scenarios. “Not much of a name, unless you’ve got an older sibling named eight and a younger one named six. Your parents mathematicians or something?”

Oh, she gave good deadpan. Not a tell to be had. “Parents are dead, and it’s the only name I’ve got.”

She’d never figure him for stupid. Might as well play it straight until it was time not to. “Cipher name then, fair enough. It explains a lot. So, why the rust bucket? Surely the Empire can afford something a bit posher for an agent.”

“My ship is on Dromund Kaas. The Empire is not always welcome on every world, so we keep a compound of confiscated vessels; freighters, transports, troops carriers, even fighters. A ship for all reasons.”    

No denials. A bit of even footing. “Comes in handy, I’d expect.”

She pushed her plate away and asked the droid for a cup of tea before turning on her seat to face him. “Enough small talk. I’ll show you mine, where’s yours?”

“Hope you kept my jacket cause you sure as shit left everything else I own on Kellneth.”

“Clothes can be replaced. Thel, go get his jacket and the envelope.” She sniffed her tea, took a sip. “It’s a little worse for wear, I’m afraid, but the droid patched it up as best he could.”

“As long as my datapad’s ok, we’re good.”

Thel returned, slapped the jacket down on the counter and handed Seven an envelope which she opened, upended and shook the contents out into her palm. A silver-tone key winked in the light as she placed it on the countertop.

“You have any idea what this might unlock?”

Skavak reached for it, then halted. “May I?”

“Help yourself.”

He raised the key by the shaft, turned it over, ran his thumb along the edge. “It’s a lovers key.”

“A what?”

“Old design. Haven’t seen one in years. See here?” He traced his index finger along the head and shoulder. “Completely straight. The shaft is offset to the side, the notches and ridges run along the edge instead of the center. This is part of a matched set. The other key will align along the cuts, like two bodies perfectly joined. Whatever you’re after, you won’t get in with this.  The lock is a two-key system, you’ll need both.”

He turned the key end for end. “Where the hell did you get...” The answer clicked before the question was completed. “The auction. Whatever happened to that tall bastard you were with?”

Her eyes glinted like the flat of a knife in the noonday sun. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Together, sort of. Thel is ever the watchdog.
> 
> The 'lovers key' is a bit of my made up lore. It seemed to fit, so to speak. I also figured that the Empire would have a fleet of nondescript vessels to be used as needed. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.


	8. It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's never a good time for decisions to come back and bite you in the ass.

It was her on Nar Shaddaa, a nasty bit of fluff in an attractive wrapper. She’d keep her secrets, and Skavak wasn’t dumb enough to pry in areas where he wasn’t welcome, but he’d lay odds that she’d left bodies in her wake.

“Your turn.” She extended her hand toward Skavak who dropped the key into her palm.

He pushed his mug to the droid for a refill and reached for his jacket, pulling his datapad from an inside pocket. “I’d say first we need to figure out why we keep getting thrown at each other, and who’s doing the throwing.”

“You know my orders come from higher up,” said Seven.

“I figured as much, but where do they get their info?”

She raised her shoulder in a half shrug. “Too many sources to count, but it seems that one or two of our informants has been especially active of late.”

“And who’s feeding the informants?”

“Good question. I was sent to Ulnaath only to find out someone had gotten to the safe ahead of me. Your name came up. Then Semona where I discovered you tracking my mark, and then the auction and now here. Who was your contact?”

Skavak powered up his datapad and opened the file where he’d saved all the text messages. “Calls himself Ferrous. Odd fellow to put it mildly.” He pushed the device across the counter. “Maybe you’ll see something I missed.”

She scrolled through the messages, halting here and there, going back and forth, reading and rereading. Skavak studied her face, the intensity of her eyes, the tilt of her nose, the tiny dent in her chin, that one mischievous strand of hair she kept tucking behind her ear.

“No. It can’t be,” she said, at last, breaking Skavak’s concentration.

“Can’t be what?”

She scrolled up and back down again. “He mentions nine twice but also combines some form of ‘watch’ followed by a word that quite specifically has a form of ‘ex’ in it.”

“Holy shit,” exclaimed Thel. “Watcher X.”

“Exactly.” Seven nodded her head.

Skavak winged his hands away from his mug. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

She shook her head as if trying to dislodge ideas she didn’t want to entertain then turned to meet his eyes. “Watcher X, brilliant, crazy and one of the Empire’s dirty little secrets. Here.” She pointed to a specific passage. “This part about fluffing pillows, he’s asking for help. He also wants us to find Cipher Nine, why, I don’t know.”

“The Black Codex?” asked Thel.

“You’re not supposed to know about that,” she said.

“Neither are you,” Thel countered.

She threw him a smile and turned back to Skavak. “This last part, although overtly sexual, is not. He was telling you, ‘you’re fucked’ and to watch your back. It was a warning.”

“To keep me alive?” Skavak snorted. “For what purpose. You could have killed me, sliced into my datapad and found all this out anyway.”

“As much of a nutter as he is, Watcher X always has a purpose. He’s delusional, not stupid, and neither am I. What if you had failsafe protocols on everything, it could take weeks to crack if we didn’t lose the information entirely. No, you’re more use alive than dead.”

Nice to know exactly where he stood. “Lucky me. Then why both of us? Why not just contact you directly? He evidently has the means through your snitches.”

“He’s likely closely monitored and whatever he’s given to the empire was simply to draw the two of us together and ensure neither side got everything. You were his choice, someone he could manipulate, and he is very good at what he does.” She closed the texts and tapped on a folder labeled vids. “And these?”

Skavak frowned, every muscle going tense. “Password protected. They’ll self-delete after the first incorrect entry, and you couldn’t beat that password out of me.”

Thel cracked his knuckles. “Care to make a wager on that?”

She snapped her head around to the older man. “Enough Thel. This is the hook they set, and it’s his secret to keep.”

Skavak hadn’t expected that, not from an Imperial, let alone a Cipher Agent, but he still wasn’t ready to show all his cards. The microfilm strip remained safely tucked away behind a ceiling tile in his room on Kellneth.

He cleared his throat. “So, what about the key?”

She slapped the key down onto the counter. “I think that will be a mystery for now, but I’d bet this group has the other one and will be hell-bent on getting this one too. The bone carving was part of a lot from the Bank of Aargau, the book was part of a private collection. No ties between the two. For sure Watcher knew, and his timing had to be perfect to ensure whoever has him prisoner didn’t get both. He’s treading a very thin line.”

She leveled her gaze on Skavak again. “And now we come to the book.”

He had nothing to lose by hand feeding them certain information while keeping the rest as a bargaining chip in case things went south. Plus, aside from his personal health being on the line, this spy shit was the most fun he’d had in a while. “Hidden inside the spine were four microfilm strips with schematics for a device that can either enhance or disrupt holonet signals on a wide scale. We all know what would happen if they succeed.”

“The whole fucking galaxy would come to a standstill,” said Thel.

Seven scrubbed her fingers across her forehead. “Too many moving parts, too much speculation and information I can’t divulge.” She glanced over to Skavak. “I doubt you’ll hear from this Ferrous again which will put us at a disadvantage.”

“Oh, I’ll hear from him again.” Skavak’s secret stash all but guaranteed that he and this Watcher X weren’t done with each other yet.

She turned to him, eyebrow cocked and voice full of doubt. “And how can you be so certain?”

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “I have my ways.”

She almost smiled back, but her training caught the tic before it had time to move a muscle. “I’m sure you do.” Her head turned to Thel. “How far are we from Dromund Kaas?”

Skavak’s back went ramrod straight. “You can’t take me there. Not if you want me to live.”

“I’m aware of that,” she replied and returned her attention to the older man. “Thel?”

“Closer to the planet Keeper sent us to. We could check it out real quick and head back to the barn after. But that ain’t gonna get us in touch with Nine any quicker.”

“I know and sending a broadband message is too risky, plus, Keeper would skin me alive.” She tagged Skavak with a flint hard stare that left no wiggle room. “You’re positive you’ll hear from Ferrous again.”

He nodded. “I am.”

“Alright, that just may buy us a little time.”

“Three days to Coumeck IV,” said Thel. “Then back to DK, but what about him?”

“We’ll figure that out as we go.”

Three days Skavak found himself locked in the crew quarters during sleep cycles and allowed to roam the ship during wake cycles. No weapons, no tools and nothing to keep him occupied except his imagination and a playlist of his favorite songs. The ship was rigged to set off an alarm for any incoming or outgoing communications, not that he had anyone to call. Either Thel or the ship’s droid shadowed his every move, neither of them willing to engage in conversation, and the woman avoided him like the plague. How the hell was he going to make a move if he wasn’t allowed on the board?

 

Coumeck IV was a bust offering nothing but the bombed-out crater where a house and small complex of buildings had once stood. Foundation girders pointed toward the sky like broken fingers while twisted plates of durasteel and piles of rubble and dirt dotted the area. The occasional shard of shattered glass winked through the undergrowth that already encroached on the field of destruction. Nature didn’t wait for an invitation or a first kiss, it simply moved in. Skittering feet of vermin and the steady drone of insects were the only noises besides the crunch of their boots and the rustle of leaves.

The portable sonic probe that Thel carried returned nothing from below the surface. No indication of a bunker, safe room or vault. Whatever the keys opened, it wasn’t there.

 

The ship lifted in a swirl of dust and a feeling of unease that followed Seven into hyperspace. What next? Dromund Kaas for sure, but Keeper had always been a bit twitchy when it came to Cipher Nine, and what the hell was Watcher X expecting her to do or find? Still, no word from Ferrous and the key might as well have been a bent slot token for all the good it was doing them. Everything jumbled into a knot so tightly tangled she couldn’t see past the gnarled mess, and not one loose end to tug. _Damn!_

Then there was Skavak. What the hell was she going to do about him? Usually good at reading people, he unsettled her, only showing what he wanted her to see, and the man was holding something back. More likely a whole bag of somethings. Not that she wanted to know his life story, but maybe she should play this a different way. Open herself up just enough to pique his interest, and reel him in. Not right away, of course, he’d suspect the sudden change, but it was eight days to the abandoned listening post just outside Sith space where she’d drop him and Thel off. She had time, and it was what she was trained for after all.

Of course, Keeper wouldn’t be happy that she’d aborted the sanction, but with Keeper, truth was always the best policy. Right now, they needed Skavak as a means to an end. After the job? She’d cross that bridge, and... Bloody hell, the chasm got wider the closer she came.

The first day she avoided Skavak as usual, the second day she took Thel into the cargo bay to spar, the third day the same, except she sighted Skavak leaning against the door, his arms and ankles crossed. She winked at Thel, and things got interesting. She’d have a few bruises and so would Thel, but not as many as if they’d both opened up with what they could really do. She made sure to brush against Skavak as she left and caught the tail end of the conversation between the two men before disappearing around the bend of the corridor.

“She’s got some moves,” said Skavak.

“She’d have you on your back in two seconds,” snorted Thel.

“I don’t mind taking bottom,” Skavak countered.

A smile creased her lips, but she didn’t say a word.

Day four, Skavak was free to roam the ship now during all cycles, though not alone. That would have been pushing it too far. She actually had lunch with him and Thel but kept to herself, head bent over her datapad while she ate.

Day five, night cycle. She’d heard him up and about at all hours and decided it was time. The galley was empty when she entered, but she flicked on the lights, took a bottle and glass from the cabinet and sat down to wait. It didn’t take long.

Skavak peeked around the corner, the droid’s servos whining behind him. “Mind if I join you?”

“Rum’s not on the menu, but if you can stomach whiskey, there’s plenty in the bottle.”

He entered, took a glass from the cabinet and stood across from her. “Think you know what I like, huh?” He unscrewed the cap and poured a decent two finger shot.

“I followed you for days on Semona, so yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“You’re not like most Imperials I’ve met.”

Elbows on the counter, she leaned in, slightly amused at his presumption. “Met a lot, have you?”

“Enough to know I don’t like them much.”

“Tell me, have you ever met a baker, maid, shoeshine boy, shopkeeper, factory worker or a young mother shopping for the evening meal with a child on each hip? That’s the true Empire.”

He placed his elbows on the counter and followed suit, she didn’t back away. He cocked his head like a confused puppy. “Odd thing for an agent to say. What about the others?”

She took a sip and held the glass between her hands, so close her fingers almost touched his. “The Sith are petulant children who like to throw temper tantrums; usually lightning is involved. The military has a stick shoved so far up their ass they can’t sit down without sprouting roots. Elected officials of Sith controlled worlds live with greed and fear, a dangerous mix.”

“What about Sith Intelligence?”

“We hide what we can, uncover what we can, try to maintain balance and clean up the mess when we can’t. We deal in secrets and lies and death and hold it together when everything around us turns to shit.”

“Is that what keeps you up at night?”

 _Damn, his eyes are beautiful._ She dropped her gaze to the glass of amber liquid to drown the blue that sucked her into depths she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to tread. Her training, forever her lifeline, allowed her to lift her gaze to his. “What keeps me up at night is that an ancient religion is the glue that binds us all together and the least of us suffers the most. The Empire would fall without those little people who turn the gears every day. They are all that matters. They are the Empire I fight for.”

A long silence followed where he stared at her as if trying to peel away her layers down to the bone. Hook set, but it was debatable who cast the line. She emptied her glass and rose to leave. “Put the bottle away when you’re done, please.”

His voice, deep and full of contemplation followed her through the door. “Goodnight, Seven.”

Day six, the message from Ferrous arrived. The alarm sounded, Seven and Thel crowded around him to read the screen.

_(Shame on you, Mr. Skavak. You kept something that isn’t yours, and I want it back.)_

‘Your bosses aren’t smart enough to figure things out?’

_(Did you forget that danger is always a possibility?)_

‘Show me proof, and we’ll talk about it.’

_(A smuggler can run but he can’t hide. Rule 101 must have skipped your mind; never gamble with something you can’t stand to lose.)_

‘I haven’t lost yet, and you’ve got nothing.’

_(Don’t be so sure. Loyalties can be bought, and trust can be misplaced. Give my best to the agent, she’s a pretty thing. Do tell her that red’s not her color.)_

‘I want out, Ferrous, you have no hold over me.’

_(No? Have you checked your accounts lately? Oops.)_

Skavak swiped the screen, tipped it up so Thel and Seven couldn’t see and entered his passcode. Access denied. Account locked. He brought up the message screen again.

‘Fucker. I don’t have it with me.’

_(That is a problem. A fine of fifty thousand credits per day will be removed from your account until you deliver it. Meet my contact on Tolus Salini. It’s dangerous for everyone to keep me waiting. I’ll contact you with further instructions.)_

Skavak gripped the datapad so tight his fingers blanched and the case creaked. “Cocksucking sonofabitch!”

“So, you in or out?” asked Thel.

“He’s pissed me off. There are two things in my life nobody touches, and one of them is my credits. I’m in.”

Thel grinned at him. “What’s the second thing?”

Skavak gave him a look that would freeze a flamethrower. Thel got up and walked to the other side of the room. “Well, we learned one thing at least.”

“Yeah, we did.” Skavak laid the datapad on his bunk before he broke the damned thing. “Ferrous is on Skip one-oh-one in Smuggler’s Run, and our fucking hands are tied unless we can get him out of there. Right now, he’s covering Seven’s ass. He knows I’m with her and likely that she’s got the other key, but I don’t think his bosses know everything yet. It’s just a matter of time.”

Thel brushed his fingers through his hair. “Shit, one-oh-one. Inner rim right in the middle of the Gyre. We’ll need the _Hedron_ ‘cause this piece of shit will never make it.”

Seven sat quietly listening to the banter bouncing back and forth between the two men, getting the whole picture before opening her mouth. She knew Skavak had held something back and whatever it was just threw one hell of a wrench in the works. She stood up also and placed herself between the two men, turning to Skavak first. “Alright, out with it. What the hell do you have and where the hell is it?”

“It’s one of the microfilm strips, and it’s back on Kellneth.”

Her voice rose an octave. “Bloody hell! Why would you do that?”

He upped the ante. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to get kidnapped. This is as much your fault as mine, and it was the only bargaining chip I had.”

She rolled her eyes, cast her arms out in a gesture of disbelief. “For what?”

Skavak bounded to his feet, his fists clenched, his teeth locked. “For her, dammit. For her.”   

Seven watched him crumble and pull himself back together in no more time than it took to take a breath. All the hard edges softened and realigned into sharp planes designed to insulate him from life. He’d shown a moment of weakness and was already withdrawing into what he knew, and the story of it was written on his face.

“Thel, close your mouth and drop us out of hyperspace when you can and turn us around to Kellneth. Seems we have something of import to retrieve.”

She pivoted on her heel to leave and halted when Skavak’s fingers wrapped around her elbow, his words barely above a whisper. “I’m in this to make sure she’s safe, but she isn’t mine, Seven. She never was.”   

She didn’t know why he said it, he certainly owed her no explanation, but she was glad he did.


	9. A Simple Misunderstanding

Sullen. That’s how she’d describe Skavak as he sulked about the ship and ghosted the corridors late at night. He’d exposed a weakness where a woman was concerned and that had to weigh heavy on a man of his reputation. He distanced himself from them all, eating alone and abandoning rooms as soon as she or Thel entered. Seven didn’t know how to reach out and wasn’t sure if she should. She left him to his isolation and went about her daily routine, arguing with Thel more than once that ‘no, he wasn’t allowed to beat some sense into the dumb bastard’s head.’ One thing they could agree on was that a man like Skavak gone silent was more worrisome than when he was rattling his cage.

Four days out from Kellneth she contacted Watcher Eleven, her handler, to check in according to protocol. The conversation was brief verifying only that she was still alive and would return to base as soon as she could. Watcher X was too wily by far and being unsure of just how much of a hold his captors had on him, she wasn’t about to divulge any more than she had to. At this point, she trusted nothing even to a secure channel, no matter how many layers of encryption there were. What she had to tell Keeper was best done in person, and he wasn’t going to be happy with her. Not happy at all.

#

Two days from Kellneth, Skavak sat on his bunk in the crew quarters, a half-finished glass of whiskey sitting on the floor and the door closed. No matter how many schemes triggered in his head, every angle flatlined with no hope of resuscitation. Once he retrieved the schematic and handed it over on Tolus Salini, the spy would have no more use for him. Her little red-haired sidekick would be only too happy to give him a one-way ticket to an airlock and a cold, dark coffin.

Ship controls were locked down, he had no access to weapons or chemicals, and everywhere he looked, a dead end stared back. Dead being the operative word.

Seven told him she didn’t want him hurt, but she was a spy, and they lied to get what they wanted. Hell, he would. She had no skin in the game other than what the key accessed and getting Imperial property back, namely Watcher X.

Though he wasn’t stupid enough to put all his credits in one pile, the account Ferrous controlled was still the biggest repository, and it rankled to no end. He doubted his financial liquidity was high on Seven’s list and figured once his part was done, so was he.

He had one more card to play and had already made the opening bet with that little comment about Ky not being his. He still couldn’t figure out why the hell he’d said it, but if it opened a door so be it, and if Seven bought it, so much the better.       

He’d been a loner his whole life, went his own way, served his own needs and being a selfish sonofabitch had made him no friends, but it’d kept him alive. He couldn’t do any more for Ky, so time to get back to what he knew.

He opened the files on the datapad one by one and took a final look at her face, then highlighted them all. “Goodbye, tough girl.” Like a condemned man, he made peace with his past and pressed delete.

#

Lorika Sten-Burnn laid the stylus on the desk and leaned back in her chair eyeing the man who’d just sauntered through the door of her office. The crosshatch of scars along his jaw didn’t detract from his handsome features or the fact that his eyes were the same as hers; ice blue, cunning and ruthless. Kamarr, her brother.

“How did the meeting go?” He took a seat, crossing an ankle over his knee and latching his fingers together to rest on his midsection.

“As well as expected. Movers and shakers, my ass. Greedy fools is more like it, and gullible, though they do have their uses. Resources and labor among them. All it takes is a fancy group name, and everybody wants to join. Why weren’t you there?”

“I leave the finagling to you, sis. I’m more of a hands-on kind of guy.”

The tone of her voice was joking, the look in her eyes wasn’t. “Then please tell me you’ve got your hands on my key.”

Kamarr shrugged. “A redhead on the arm of Cole, the night of the auction, isn’t much of a lead and from what you’ve told me, your guest hasn’t found any other trace. No simple thief would have the resources for such a thorough cover-up. I suspect SIS or an Imperial agent.”

“I need you to dig deeper. Somebody knows something, and I want her found.”

“The cipher agent I killed has likely put them on high alert. I must admit, the four younger agents were no fun at all and the fixer...” He rolled his shoulders. “Well, he couldn’t fix anything, including himself. And then the SIS agent—we might have been a little overzealous in our attempt to balance the score and divert attention. They do tend to close ranks.”

Her gaze pinned him like a laser. “The Cipher was getting too close to the production plant. The four young ones and the fixer are on you. Use whatever assets you need.”

Kamarr slid his gloves from his belt and onto his hands, adjusting each finger one by one. “At least the scoundrel you were using survived the ambush on Kellneth. Had he died, you’d never have known about the missing schematic. I’d imagine the woman who saved him and our redhead are one and the same. I have a contact there, perhaps we’ll get an identity, after all, assuming he returns to Kellneth.”

She picked up her stylus, pointing the end at him. “I don’t care what you have to do. We need that key.”

He hoisted himself out of the chair. “As you wish, sister. Don’t I always deliver?”

“You’ve yet to disappoint, brother.” The corners of her mouth twitched then flattened into a straight line. “Who knows, we may even discover who killed our father.”

“That would be a nice bonus. I take it Yali is on Tolus for the handoff?” He waited for affirmation. “Her screw up on Kellneth was fortuitous, but a screw up nonetheless. I’ll handle it.” 

#

Kellneth. Smoke and stench and misery. Skavak never wanted to see this place again no matter how long or short his life expectancy happened to be. Seven and Thel stuck to him like engine tape, her walking by his side, Thel bringing up the rear. Seven sported a blonde wig that, combined with her pale complexion, gave her an almost ethereal look. Both wore spacer’s garb, but he had no doubt that each had a bit of ‘knock you on your ass’ tucked somewhere up a sleeve or in a boot.

The Bothan barkeep nodded at him as they walked by, but chit-chat wasn’t on the menu, though he’d liked to have bought a bottle of rum. Hilde sat in her regular place behind the hotel registration desk, reading from her datapad, teeth popping a wad of gum. Hell, it was like she’d never left, could even be wearing the same outfit, not that he’d paid that much attention the first time.

She raised bored eyes from whatever she’d been reading. “Didn’t think we’d see you again.”

“Didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“It’s the tattoo.”

“Huh. Came back for my stuff and something I left in my room,” said Skavak.

“Stuff got cleared out, nothing left.”

“I just need to get in for a minute.”

“No can do. Room’s occupied and he ain’t checked out. You gonna rent something or not?”

“Sure,” answered Seven. “We’ll take a room.”

“Just one?” Hilde’s eyes scanned back and forth between the three faces.

Seven shrugged.

“None of my business as long as you don’t trash the place.” Hilde slid a keycard across the desktop.

Seven eyed the rates listed on the placard behind the desk and slid a credit chip back at her.

They took the lift to the second floor. Skavak stopped in front of room two-oh-six. “This one was mine.”

“No security cameras.” Seven glanced up and down the hallway.

Thel knelt by the locking panel, security spike in hand. “Not like Dromund Kaas. Can’t scratch your balls in public without getting fined.”

Seconds seemed like minutes until the door lock clicked. “You’re up,” said Thel.

Seven opened the door a crack and slipped through. A male voice yelled a startled “Who the...?”, followed by a thud. Thel and Skavak entered and pulled the door shut.

“Hurry up, Skavak. We need to leave.” Seven rolled the man over and pulled the tranq dart from his thigh.

“You’re entirely too handy with those things.” Skavak climbed onto the bed, moved a ceiling tile aside and retrieved a long, thin envelope.

“I’ve had a lot of practice lately. Let’s move.”

Hilde glanced up from reading and cocked an eyebrow as they filed by her desk.

“Quickies ain’t what they used to be, luv.” Thel winked.

Outside they walked the streets and onto the causeways leading back to their ship.

“Did you see it?” asked Seven.

“I did. Some sort of probe.” Thel turned and walked backward, scanning the area behind while Seven scouted the road ahead.

“Holocam, but why? They already know our next stop is Tolus Salini.”

“I’d say someone wanted to know who I was traveling with,” ventured Skavak.

“Not Watcher X, he already knows. This is someone else which means they’re looking for the key and just tying loose ends together.”

“Either way, I don’t like it,” grumbled Thel.

Seven gritted her teeth setting her jaw into a hard line. “Who says we’re going to Tolus? It’s time we change the rules and run their asses around for a bit. First priority is Watcher X and Nine.”

Thel closed the hatch behind them. “Dammit, girl, you should’ve told me.”

“I just did.”

Concern for Ky stuttered across Skavak’s mind for an instant, and he let it go. He’d planned on making a run for it on Tolus, and that just got blown all to hell. Shit. Right now, he was shackled to a cart full of crazy, and his only option was to try and survive the ride.

#

“You scan for trackers?” Seven asked Thel as he lifted off and input the coordinates for the listening post. A huff of exasperation and a mean side eye told her all she needed to know.

She heard the door to the crew quarters slide shut as she made her way to her room for a shower and a change of clothes to get rid of the stink of Kellneth. Squeaky clean and random thoughts of Skavak left to go down the drain with the soap and shampoo bubbles, she slipped into sleep pants and a tank top and dropped into the desk chair. The ends of her hair dripped wet spots on her shirt as she combed through the strands and considered the impact of her decision.

Bloody hell. She hadn’t counted on Skavak and the microfilm, but there was no way she was going to take both the key and the data to Tolus Salini. Eggs, basket, yeah, the old saying still applied. So, back to her original plan. Get her ship, contact Nine, rescue Watcher X and dangle the microfilm strip in front of the Camarilla’s nose. Shake the tree until something fell out. Always a good idea unless the tree fell too.

She ate dinner in her room and napped for a while to rest the brain and clear the cobwebs. The bedside chrono read 2:13 a.m. when she rolled to her feet and slipped out into the corridor. Something clattered in the cargo hold, and she stopped by to secure one of the netting clamps before making her way to the galley. The hyperdrive sang a high, sad melody, of places been and left behind and some never to be seen again. She rounded the corner into the galley, grabbed a glass and bottle, and raised a toast to the song.

A heel tap on the metal grating, broad shoulders filling the door, she looked over at the tattooed face and pinged the bottle with her nail. “Finally decided to come out of hiding?”

“Had some things to work out.” Skavak entered and grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

“Don’t we all.”

He sat beside her, poured his glass half full, and took a sip. “You’ve got the microfilm. Tell me why I’m still here.”

“Because Watcher wants you here. Why? I don’t know. Right now, you’re his point of contact, and until he’s rescued and tells me something different, you’re stuck with me.”

“Doesn’t sound promising from where I’m sitting.”

She took a sip and played with the rim of the glass. “I already told you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah. I’m still trying to figure that one out.”

“As am I.” She turned, her knees pressing into his thigh. He didn’t move away. Neither did she. “So, tell me about yourself.”

The muscles around his mouth pulled the corners down then relaxed. He licked his lips. “Not much to tell. Raised in the system until I was old enough to run. Fell in with a bad crowd, fell back out. Found I was better off on my own. Been running ever since.”

“Sounds lonely.”

He tilted the liquid back and forth, dangerously close to the edge without sloshing over. “Sounds uncomplicated and safe to me. What about you?”

She raised the glass to her lips and swallowed slow before answering. “Orphaned young, street rat until my particular talents got noticed. Went into the academy younger than most. Graduation. Promotions. I’ll never be more than a Cipher, which is fine by me. People don’t live long in my line of work, but I’m good at what I do, and it beats the hell out of a desk job.”

He circled around with a decent ‘back at ya.’ His tone hovering between contemplation and amusement. “Sounds lonely.”

His eyes were too intense; too blue, searching for a chink in her façade. Lies were easy to share, but this real-life stuff dropped an uncomfortable tangle of wire in her gut that coiled and writhed and choked truth before it had barely been spoken.   

She tipped the glass back and downed the remaining dregs until all she saw was the bottom. Anything to look at besides those eyes. She slid off the stool to leave. “Goodnight, Mister Skavak.”

“Back to Mister, are we?”

“As you say..., uncomplicated and safe.”

She didn't know why he did it, she didn't know why she let him, but there they were all lips and tongues and bumping noses, and wrapped so tight around each other every breath was a strangled moan. If he nipped at her neck one more time, if the heat rising from her core didn't stop; she'd melt, and maybe she wanted to, and maybe she wanted this. Whatever this was. However long this lasted.

His tongue scalded her skin. His hips crushed against hers. Under the heat of his hands, she felt the first terrifying cracks in her mask and... No! Wrong man, bad timing. Her training rose like a monster, brutal and harsh, pushing it all aside. "I'm sorry." She untangled herself and shoved him away. "I can't do this.”

Hands raised in front, he backed toward the door. "So, I’m just the job after all. It’s alright, sweetheart, I get it. Guess I got the signals mixed. No harm done.”

 _No harm done. Part of the job._ She watched him leave. They’d just begun the dance when duty and common sense cut in and took the lead, but damn, those first few steps were stunning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't mean for this to take so long, but December is a month where my brain turns to pudding. Perhaps it is so for everyone.
> 
> A bit of a filler chapter that fought me hard, but it moves things along. Hope you enjoy.


	10. Warnings in a Dark Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intentions are everything, but not always clear.

“That went well,” Skavak berated himself under his breath as he lay down, folded his arms under his head and stared at the bottom of the bunk overhead. All his best-made plans shot to shit in one stupid, overplayed move.

It wasn’t as if he’d never been turned down before, but those were casual situations with nothing on the line except a warm body in his bed for the night. Here he was caught in the middle of a power struggle between giants, and all he wanted was to escape with life and limb intact. He was a prisoner, for all intents. So, what the hell made him think that making an overt attempt to get into the head jailor’s pants was a good idea?

He’d learned long ago to change direction mid-stride when plans went off the rails. Think on his feet and adapt was as much ingrained as a charming smile or a knife up a sleeve. Ferrous aside, he was balls deep in this mess, and the clamps were getting tighter. Time to be smart, lie low and let her drive the game. She had kissed him back, and that was a weapon he could use.  

There was no time for the long con. Thirteen days to the listening post, according to Thel, and no way off that rock. Seven would take the freighter to Dromund Kaas, check in with her people and return in her ship, then off to Skip one-oh-one to rescue Watcher X. Sounded good on paper, _if_ they could find this Cipher Nine, convince her to sign on and _if_ they didn’t get blown to hell in Smuggler’s Run. Regardless, he was stuck with an Imperial Agent and a crusty old fart that would sooner slit his throat as look at him.

Subtlety had never been Skavak’s strong suit, but ship’s routine was a nice place to go unnoticed and reconnoiter. Restricted from the engine room and cockpit, he helped the droid with minor maintenance. Simple chores filled his days and kept him away from Seven and Thel except during mealtimes when he sat at the side table and listened to the banter of shipmates who’d been together for years. He filed away the little tidbits he picked up by sitting on the sidelines with his mouth shut.  

Sometimes he lurked in the doorway of the cargo bay and watched them spar, admiring how her body moved, fluid and flawless like a hawk gliding through air. She flowed through each lunge, roll, and feint with grace, shook off the pain when Thel connected, laughed when he helped her off the floor, scolded herself for the misstep. Her skin glistened under the lighting, and the ripple of the muscles along her back and midriff held Skavak’s gaze for far too long. He mentally punched himself as a reminder to keep his perspective in line.     

He caught her studying him when she thought he wasn’t looking, averting her eyes whenever he glanced her way. Maybe it was time to make another move. Something subtle to open up a dialogue and find out precisely where he stood.

Evening cycle of the sixth day into the trip to the listening post found Skavak in the galley, condiments spread on the counter and freshly brewed caf in the caf maker. One filled mug sat before him.

Seven breezed through the door. “What is that splendid aroma?”  

“Spacer’s caf. Want a mug?”

“Yes please.” She slid onto the stool across from him and watched as he pulled a mug from the cupboard and filled it with caf.

He added a teaspoon of sugar, a jigger of whiskey, dollop of cream, sprinkle of cinnamon and one drop of vanilla. “Enjoy.” He slid the mug across the counter.

Skavak didn’t think he’d ever seen her more relaxed than at that moment when her slender fingers wrapped around the mug and lifted it to her lips. He observed the bow of her mouth as she blew into the steam, the way she closed her eyes as the first taste touched her tongue. The strain of life melted from her face, and he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of the same sad vulnerability he’d seen only once.    

“Mmm, this is lovely,” she sighed.

“Yes, it is.” He cleared his throat for the quick save. “Brown sugar is better, but you didn’t have any.”

“I’ll take some of that,” Thel announced as he stomped into the room and took a seat beside Seven.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll poison you, old man?” Skavak opened the cabinet and retrieved another mug.

“You’d be dead before I hit the floor, hotshot,” Thel scoffed.

So much for a quiet moment of intelligence gathering. He still had a week, and Seven’s reaction said the door was cracked, even if she hadn’t invited him in. It was just a matter of getting her alone without Uncle Homicide looking on.

Three a.m., night cycle of the ninth day. Skavak tracked her to the cockpit and rapped lightly on the door. “Mind if I come in for a spell?”

He leaned against the door frame and waited. The response came succinct and muffled. “Why?”

“Haven’t seen anything outside this ship for quite a while. I’d kinda like to see space for a bit. If that’s alright with you.”

He’d almost given up when the lock clicked, and the door slid open. Seven backed up as he entered, keeping space between them, watching his every move.

“You mind?” he asked as he made his way to the navigator’s chair.

A shake of her head was all the answer he got. Her walls were like battlements, solid and unbreachable. Yeah, he’d really fucked up. This one would take time and finesse. Time, he didn’t have.  

She remained standing, her butt leaned against the console, her arms crossed in a nonchalant pose primed for action. Skavak stared out the windows, ankle crossed over one knee, hands in plain view. “Thank you for this.”

“Mhm,” she mumbled and let silence fill in the blanks.

“You know,” he began, “when you first mentioned Keeper, I thought you were talking about a zoo.”

Her light chuckle broke through the tension. “I guess I’ve seen the shadow of bars for so long, I don’t even notice anymore.”

“I’d think a Cipher has more freedom than most.”

“Contrary to the Sith Code, freedom is an illusion. Some chains are never broken, and passion is a lie.”

His eyes drifted from the windows to her face. “Giving away state secrets?”

“Not at all. Merely giving a different perspective from a non-Sith.” She unfolded her arms and braced herself palms down on the console. “I find it ironic that the Sith hate the Jedi...but Sith Intelligence is held to the same tenets as those misbegotten force users.”

Information on the inner workings of the Empire, no matter how small, was always worth having. The bonus being that it gave him insights into her as well. He prodded for more. “How so?”

“Personal attachments, though allowed, are frowned on. No one to kidnap, or ransom for precious secrets. No homes to bomb or lives to burn except our own. Duty, above all else, is the credo by which we live. Sound familiar?”

He glanced sidelong at her face. “Vaguely. Life in the Empire’s not all it’s cracked up to be, huh?”

A glum smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I have no life in the Empire. I live _for_ the Empire. There is a difference.”

“No one waiting for you back on Dromund Kaas?”

“I wouldn’t know how to work that into my life given what I do.” 

Show and tell, but why now? Either way, an apology couldn’t hurt. “I had no idea. Look, about the other night...I’m sorry.”

Sorrow edged across her face as if she’d held something dear and let it slip away. “Don’t be. I’m not.”

Of everything she could have said, he hadn’t expected that. For the first time in a long time, he had no witty comeback.  

Seven shoved herself off the console and stared into his eyes. “Enjoy the freedom of the stars, Mister Skavak. Close the door when you leave.”

He leaned back in the chair and scanned the console, fingers itching to take control, change the destination. Futile pipedreams unless he wanted to set off every alarm in the ship. His gaze settled on the points of light streaming by as he accepted her meager gift. Respect wasn’t a commodity he invested in often since the returns were usually disappointing, but, damn, if he wasn’t starting to like this woman. The last fucking thing he needed.   

Two days from the listening post, Skavak sat in the common area playing a game of solitaire with an old Kings deck of cards he’d found under the dejarik table’s top. Marked cards at that, though cheating himself sort of defeated the purpose.

An incoming transmission to his datapad triggered a buzzing alarm that echoed through the ship. Thel and Seven sprinted in and slid to a halt by the spacer’s couch. Seven nodded for him to answer.

_(You missed the rendezvous, Mister Skavak.)_

‘Noticed that, did you?’

_(Anger is an ugly emotion. Things get broken. Delay is not wise.)_

‘Why should I care? You’ve lost your bargaining chip.’

_(Don’t be so sure. Prying eyes can be found in the most unexpected places.)_

‘She’s safe. That’s all that matters.’

_(Perhaps. Deciphering the galaxy is a long and painful process. Duplication, however, is not.)_

Seven snapped her fingers to draw his attention. She tapped her index finger on her wrist four times, then sliced her fingertips across her throat.

He typed four dots, hit send and disconnected before raising his eyes to Seven. “What the hell was that all about?”

“Four dots, agent speak for ‘we are coming soon.’ A bit of torture has visited our watcher. I suspect a few broken fingers.” Seven answered.

“And the rest of it?”

“I’d say that ‘deciphering’ comment means we’ve lost another cipher agent or two and he indicated a mole in Sith Intelligence.”   

Thel’s voice interrupted. “We have the other key and a piece of the schematic. They’re shit out of luck. We’ve won this already.”

“On the contrary. Watcher X is still very much in play,” said Seven. “Part of the eugenics program, chemically enhanced, implanted for uncanny logic and thought processes, the man is brilliant in many areas. Engineering, quantum mechanics, electronics, biology, to name a few. Eventually, he’ll be forced to figure out some way to reproduce the missing pieces. It’s just a matter of time.”

“The original plan it is,” said Thel.

Seven nodded, glanced at Skavak and left the room.

Last day before the listening post, a quiet drink by himself, the ship mumbling in its sleep of travels begun, things lost and the spirits of people embedded in the walls. Old ship full of memory and dreams, bones creaking, scars itching, praying for one last flight.

Stars. When the hell did he get so maudlin? Another splash of liquor in the glass, another sip that only left him feeling used up, washed out and staring into the abyss of destinies not his own. “Why the hell did I ever leave that pleasure planet?” he grumbled to himself.

“Why indeed,” Seven slid onto the couch beside him, glass in hand, reaching for the bottle.

The leatheris squeaked as he turned and without thinking extended his arm to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She caught his wrist. “You might not want to do that. Triggering my implants by accident is not a good idea. I haven’t put them in standby yet.” She lifted a finger to the crease behind her left ear. “There, that’s better.”

“Discreet. Usually, they’re...” He used his index finger to draw imaginary lines across the surface of his face.

“Facials are easily identifiable, like a birthmark or your tattoo. Infiltration requires anonymity, and most of my assignments prefer a face unmarred by appliances. They make them nervous.” The laugh lines at the corners of her eyes crinkled with her smile. “Ah. There it is. The inevitable male curiosity about my training.”       

He took a sip, swallowed hard. “I’ve heard rumors.”

A dry chuckle, free of mirth or joy escaped her lips. “I’ll bet you have. It’s not something I care to talk about, but I will leave you with this. Some scars cut too deep to be removed.”   

“Fair enough. I have scars of my own. But I do have to ask. What happens to me now? No lies, please.”

“Bloody hell.” Her eyes met his, gray as clouds on the horizon of an azure sea. “I’ve told you the truth. When this is over, you are free to go. No hidden agenda, no secret clauses, nothing due, nothing owed. You walk away, never to see me again. Happy?”

“Yeah. Happy.” He wanted nothing more than to crawl out of this bowl of crazy and get on with his life. Then why did he feel so damned shitty?

#

Mid-morning, the ship exited hyperspace. Thel began docking procedures into the bay of the abandoned listening post carved into a rogue asteroid locked in an elliptical orbit around a forgotten sun. Hands on the controls, he fired thrusters with precision and a touch as gentle as stroking the curve of a woman’s breast. The slight bump of the ship settling on the floor of the bay, the whine of the engines powering down, the silence of the end of flight. He leaned back in the pilot’s chair and exhaled the long sigh of a job well done.

He’d packed the night before including provisions for at least a week. His bag and crate waited in the cargo bay, but he sat unmoving recalling the conversation from mere hours earlier.    

 _“What the hell are you doing, Seven?”_ He’d confronted her in the passageway just outside her door.

_“You know damned well what I’m doing. The job, always the job and using what I’ve been trained for.”_

_“I see the way you look at him, and it won’t work. He knows the game. It comes to him naturally. Be careful girl before you get your tits caught in a wringer. It’s liable to be more painful than you counted on.”_

_“Let me worry about my tits.”_

_“It’s what beats under them I’m worried about. You haven’t felt that kind of pain before. End it now before it goes too far and the hurting starts. You won’t be the same once it does. Trust me, I know.”_

Dammit, the woman was stubborn. Not that he didn’t believe in attraction at first sight. Hell, it’d been that way with him and his Meira until their jobs tore them apart. A military man and a spy. Two lives set on edge and spun out of control. One too many long deployments, too many secrets. Her last mission broke her—broke them beyond fixing. They drifted apart, and he’d never been the same.     

Skavak was no damned good. A man without conscience, honor, loyalty or heart. Of all the men in the galaxy Seven could have fallen for, it had to be that piece of shit. He should just put a blaster to the bastard’s head, he should just...

“Thel. What the hell are you doing up there? I’ve got to go.” Seven’s footsteps tromped up the corridor toward the cockpit.

“Coming, girl. Keep your panties on.” Thel heaved himself out of the pilot’s seat, tapped Seven’s shoulder in passing, and made his way to the cargo bay where Skavak waited.

The air in the landing bay hit them with a cold staleness as they stepped off the loading ramp into the dim glow of the emergency lighting.

“Come on. We need to get the generator’s going before we run out of air or freeze to death.” Thel picked up his bag and hefted one end of the crate by its handle. Skavak lifted the other end, and they headed toward the hatch leading into the base.             

The hatch sealed behind them with a hiss. Thel dropped his end of the crate and rounded on Skavak who jumped out of the way as his end thudded to the floor.

In one deft motion, Thel had Skavak backed against the wall, forearm under his chin and pressing on his throat. “I don’t know what your game is, hotshot, nor do I care. Just know this. If you hurt her...I. Will. Kill. You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while, but here it is. Parts changed, parts deleted, the umpteenth iteration. But, the story moves along.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.


	11. Build Me Up from Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little chat with Keeper. Thel talks. And yes, at last.

“Damned inconvenient,” Kamarr Sten grumbled as he stepped over the woman’s body and flipped the silver rose brooch into the air, deftly snatching it one handed as it fell.

Failure was a loose end he had no problems tying up, though he would have enjoyed taking more time with this one. She’d been a fighter, and he so loved it when they fought back. Scrappy bitch had connected a time or two which made her ending all the more satisfying. Her eyes had reflected that single moment when life slips away in perfect resignation. A scene he never tired of.

He licked a droplet of blood from the split in his lower lip and hitched at the pain in his side as he sauntered from the warehouse leaving one more crumpled pile of litter in his wake.   

Stars, he hated Tolus Salini. A worthless planet with delusions of grandeur, though they did make a delightful Rosé in one of their remote farming districts. He regretted not taking the time to purchase a bottle or two before lifting off, but he had more pressing concerns.

The recording from Kellneth replayed on his datapad as he propped his feet on the console and leaned back.

“You’re quite the beauty,” he remarked as he paused the playback on the face of the woman then fast-forwarded to the tattooed face of the man. “Ah, but so are you.”

His dick had no gender preference and no prejudices when it came to getting up and getting off. He wouldn’t deny either of them the pleasure of his company. Two lovelies in such close confines, he could only imagine the spark and wondered for a second if they were fucking. What a waste if they weren’t. Ripping lovers apart was a delicacy of infinite flavor and delight. No matter. He had time.

His sister was much better equipped to handle the politics, the mundane day to day, the plotting and scheming. Let her plan her revenge along with that twit of a husband of hers. Kamarr took care of the wet work, his specialty and his passion. He was a cash and carry kind of guy, and all he wanted was his cut, as long as he could have a little fun along the way.

Time to make a call to his contact on Dromund Kaas.

#

Seven didn’t view the people quite the same as she walked through the hub of Intelligence. Somewhere among all the faces lurked the eyes of a traitor, an enemy in a cast of hundreds.   

Keeper glanced up from his desk as she entered, his scowl promising a less than pleasant debriefing. She was about to make him even more unhappy. He turned his attention back to whatever it was he’d been doing, a delay tactic to make her nervous. He should know better. No seat was offered. So, that’s how it’s gonna be.

Seven pressed her lips together and began humming a jaunty little tune to see how long it would take for the bug to crawl up Keepers well-starched ass. She had to give him credit for holding out longer than she’d expected despite the throbbing vein on his temple.

“Enough, Seven. You’ve made your point.” Keeper pinned her with his steely gaze.

She plastered her best ‘who me?’ expression on her face and tapped her ear twice.    

Keeper nodded and initiated privacy protocols. The room was secure. At least Seven hoped so.

“Do you realize how long it’s been since your last check-in?” Keeper chided.

“I do. And before you start the dress down, I have a laundry list of some very dirty items you might have interest in.”

“You couldn’t have relayed this information through regular channels?”

“No, Sir. Too risky.”

Keeper motioned nonchalantly to the chair. “Please sit and regale me with your dirty laundry.”

“You remember Watcher X?”

Keeper’s brows rose halfway to his hairline. “He’s not one easily forgotten.”

“He was also the one pulling Skavak’s strings...” she began and continued on with her tale of Ferrous, the schematic, the key and the mole inside their happy little family.

“Any idea who this mole might be?”

She folded her fingers onto her palm and studied her nails. “I do fieldwork. It’s your job to stay home, clean house, and watch over the kids.”

Keeper massaged the throbbing vein at his temple. “I also make a delicious brisket and a passable Terramasu. What do you need, Seven?”   

“A dinner invitation, and to contact Nine.”

His back went ramrod straight as he rose from his seat and tugged at the bottom of his jacket. “I can’t do that.”

“The dinner? Or Nine?” She waved off his response. “Watcher X was quite specific about her involvement. I think we both know why. The Camarilla will force him to complete their plans, and what a mess that’ll be. Make it happen. Please. Sir.”

Keeper folded back into his chair, retrieved a data crystal and plugged it into a port in his desk. “Nine is on The Cimmerian, a dreadnaught believed lost off the shoals of Uden Fen. A ghost ship, its hyperdrive fully functional and able to move as needed. This crystal contains its current location. Use it once, then destroy it and all pertinent data in you navicomputer. I’ll send word to expect you.”

Seven swiped her hand over her face, dreading the answer before she’d voiced the question. “We lost another Cipher?”

A flash of anger darkened Keeper’s eyes. “We did. Cipher Eighteen. Found hanging from a beam in the public square on Kreetaas. She did not go easy.”  

“And the SIS?”

“Nothing so far as I’ve heard.”

Seven slouched back in the chair. “What about the data chip? Has Fixer forty-two been able to crack through the failsafe yet?”

“He has.”

“And?”

“It contained a string of old account numbers from the Bank of New Cerna.”

“Never heard of it,” said Seven.

“Huh,” Keeper snorted. “History never was your area of expertise.”

“History was no fun.” Seven caught his scowl of impatience and motioned for him to continue.

“The Bank of New Cerna went defunct about three hundred years ago. All debts, funds, and holdings transferred to the Banking Guild. That included Imperial debt. It wasn’t an amicable transition. History mentions a hostile takeover which I’m inclined to believe. The vaults went hundreds of feet below the surface though not much remains of the original structures. Many ghost worlds were born out of the Civil War.” His eyes narrowed. “This has something to do with the key, the Camarilla, and Haldis Burnn. I’m sure of it.”  

Seven stood and walked to the desk to retrieve the data crystal Keeper had set on the edge. Her eyes met his. “I’ll need that chip and make sure to wipe the data from our system.” The weight of fleeting time settled on her shoulders. First things first. Lists and priorities, the story of her life.  

“Watcher Eleven is no longer your handler. You’ll report directly to me until this threat is past. Do what needs to be done.”

She nodded and turned to leave, stopped short by Keeper’s next words. “About Skavak. Are you compromised by this man?”

She bit down on her lip to keep the truth from spilling out. “No Sir. I’ll take care of it when the time comes.”

#

Skavak gathered his plate and sat across from the man who’d done his level best to ignore him other than to bark out commands when another pair of hands were needed. The endless expanse of Imperial gray walls did nothing to brighten Skavak’s mood. Even where the paint had peeled, the dull gray of duracrete and steel peeked through. The only gray he wanted to see was Seven’s eyes, and she was still two days away.

He glanced around the austere room. No wonder the Imps were mean-spirited tight asses. When he got his own ship, every nook and cranny would be painted a different color. Even pink, which had no bearing on his masculinity considering his affinity for all things of the female persuasion.

He drummed his fingers on the tabletop hoping to get some reaction. Nothing. Not even a frown.     

Enough of this shit. He dropped his fork on the metal plate and cocked an eyebrow at the old fogey sitting at the other end of the table. A good scrap and the real possibility of getting his ass kicked was better than this tedium. 

“What’s your deal with Seven anyway? You in love with her? Cause I gotta say, this jealous routine of yours kinda falls flat. I don’t think she’s interested. At least not in you.”  

“You got a death wish, hotshot?” Thel snorted.

“No. Just wondering why you think it’s your job to be her verbal chastity belt.”

Thel slammed his cup down on the table, splashing caf over the metal surface. “You’ve got no idea what that girl’s been through, and I won’t have some lowlife scum using her. She deserves better.”

“Someone like you?”

Thel shook his head. “Got me all wrong boy. Let’s just say I’m devoted and I got my reasons.”

“We’ve got time, and I’m in the mood for a story. Maybe you’ll convince me, cause threatening my life just isn’t doing it.” 

“Why not. I doubt you’ll survive what’s coming anyway.” Thel scratched the scruff on his chin and settled back in his chair. “Nineteen years ago, I was a military adjutant to a certain Moff. Me, the lifer, climbing the ranks. We found ourselves careening around a corner in Kaas City when the transport hit a woman crossing the street. Bastard barely slowed down, didn’t stop even though I asked him to. He was late for a meeting. A fucking meeting. I saw her through the rear window, tiny thing, gray eyes wide with shock, mouth open in a scream.”

He got up and returned with a glass of whiskey, took a gulp, Adam's apple bobbing. “I’ve seen the atrocities of war, committed more than my share, but those eyes haunted me for years. I looked for her everywhere. She was just gone. Had feelers out even after I ended my military career. Fell in with an unsavory lot, but my medical training had value. Then six years ago, I was on Nal Hutta. Hell, I don’t even remember why I was there. A couple of our guys dragged this snip of a woman into the field tent I was working out of. I saved her leg and her life, and the moment she opened those eyes, I knew exactly who she was. The waif I’d left standing alone on the streets of Kaas City. The rest is history, and I’ve been with her ever since. Debts of conscience are never fully repaid.”

Thel bared his teeth as another sip burned down his throat. “You’ve got no love in you, boy, except for yourself. That’s just not good enough for her.”

A smoldering ball of déjà vu burned at the center of Skavak’s chest. Scourge’s words echoed from another man’s mouth, and the message was always the same. Scum of the earth, not good enough, must be true. Hell, he’d made it true, actions louder than words and all that shit. Thing is, he wasn’t quite sure how many more times he had it in him to do the right thing. Ky was the first test, and it was damned hard being that decent. It simply wasn’t in his nature.

He fixed Thel with his best ‘don’t give a fuck’ glare. “I’m not the one driving this train, and I’ve asked to be let off at the next stop. You might want to suggest a course correction to your girl.”

Thel heaved a sigh. “Seven is not so easily dissuaded.”   

Yeah. That’s precisely what Skavak was afraid of.

 

A low whistle blew through Skavak’s teeth as he took in the sleek lines of Seven’s ship.

“Quite the beauty, isn’t she?” Thel hefted his bag to his shoulder and strode forward toward the lowered ramp where Seven waited for them.

Skavak didn’t reply, lowered his eyes to the ground and trudged along behind, following Thel and Seven through the hatch. He stood to the side as Seven handed Thel a data crystal and gave him instructions. He wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind. He was tempted to grab the agent and stick his tongue down her throat, but what would that prove? Nothing, except to poke a finger in Thel’s eye, and likely piss her off. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. A fly on the wall, a mouse in the corner, out of sight, out of mind, sounded real damned good. He took a quick glance around, getting the layout of the ship. Imperial kriffing gray, of course, and smaller than the freighter. He was truly and royally fucked.

“Well, hello to you too.” Seven’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

She chuckled. “Come this way. I’ll show you where to stow your gear.”

He shrugged. “Not much to stow, but lead on.”

 

Medbay, engine room and cockpit locked, Skavak’s choice of places to be were few; the crew quarters where he bunked, the common room, and the galley. He spent time in the cargo bay doing sit-ups, push-ups and a form of stretching exercise called Quulong-Ree he’d learned from a Twi’lek dancer long ago. It kept him limber and settled his mind, especially after learning their next destination was an Imperial shadowport. He’d lost control of his game which left him on edge and waiting. For what he wasn’t sure. He and Seven were static pieces on the same board, neither making a move.

Three days into the journey that all changed.

He’d just left the galley, four shots of rum sitting comfortably warm in his belly, and, for once, nothing much on his mind. A quick right toward his quarters, eyes glued to the floor, he slammed to a halt at ten perfect toes and the red silk hems of sleep pants.          

A bit of the ‘who goes first’ two-step and he backed against the wall to let her by. She didn’t take the pass.

“You’ve been avoiding me more than usual.” Her accusation snapped his focus from her feet to her face.

“I thought it wise.” He breathed in the scent of spice tea and lemon.

“But is it what you want?” She advanced to block his escape.

She’d changed the game to what he knew. Boxed herself in with her move.

“No.”

She leaned in. Her lips a close promise. “Show me.”

He licked the taste of lemon from her tongue, cupped her small breast, the nipple a blunted peak against his hand.

She palmed him, rubbing, teasing, her fingers playing along the edges, gripping releasing.

"This'll be over before it begins if you keep that up."

"I'd expected more control."

"It's been a while." Control. A warning bell triggered in the center of his skull. One he’d heard before. He grasped her shoulders, pushed her back, held her at bay. "This is a mistake."

"You're probably right." She melded her body to his, tits to chest, crotch to crotch, one leg wrapped around his thigh.

Aww hell. His life was a cascade of mistakes sweeping him along through rapids and over waterfalls. He gasped before the water closed over his head. He peered into her eyes, took the plunge, prepared to drown again.

In her room, those awkward moments of stripping bare, mouths engaged, fingers plucking at buttons, kicking off boots, slinging socks in the corner. She wore so little, he wore too much, but not for long.

#

He lay her on the bed, smooth, practiced like he must have done a thousand times before. She reached for the man like she’d done a hundred times before. She knew all the moves, could tick them off in her head like items on a list. But this man, this time was different in ways that couldn’t be taught.  

He made love like a man trying to remember or to forget, fierce, unfettered, and aching. She made love like a woman afraid to let go, afraid to leave the comfort of what she knew and lose herself to the wild unknown of this man moving over her. 

#

He stopped and bracketed her face with his hands. "Open your eyes and look at me. It's not scripted, Seven. Move with me, be with me. Take me in."

She unwound beneath him, opening herself layer by layer, exposing the complex beauty she'd hidden for so long. Her hips pistoned against his, pounding his breath from his body in desperate bursts. He stared down into her face, her lips full and wet and slightly apart, her eyes like storm clouds, half blind with need. She neared the edge, building, climbing, rising, peaking, gripping him like a vice.

"All of it, Seven. Give me all of it," he breathed against her neck. She pulled him deep into the final surge that swamped them both.   

Panting and sweaty he bound her beneath him until he caught his breath then propped himself on his elbows and brushed her hair from her face.

“Are you crying?”            

“Don’t be silly. Agents don’t cry.”

“Then what’s this?” He caught a tear on his fingertip before it slid down her temple and swiped it down the length of her nose.

“Joy,” She murmured as though she’d just witnessed a miracle.

“Oh, Seven...”

“Don’t,” she interrupted before he said something he didn’t mean and she’d know he didn’t mean it.

He kissed the tip of her nose and rolled to his back, encircled her with hesitant arms while moisture pooled on his shoulder and rolled off his skin. He held her long into the night until her breathing slowed and he finally closed his eyes.

He woke to the sound of arguing, sat up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. Rolling from the sheets, he tiptoed to the door and cracked it open just enough so he could hear.

“I warned you, girl,” Thel’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Damn you,” Seven snapped back. “You know what they did to me. They stripped me down to nothing. No gender, no thought, no history, no family or emotion. Then they brought me back from the destruction, hollow inside. They made me into the Empire’s thief, assassin, _whore,_ and soon I’ll be just another forgotten corpse. When is it my turn? When do I get to be happy? Thel, let me have this, please. I know it won’t last, but I need this, even if for a little while.” 

Skavak closed the door and rolled his back against the wall letting his head thud against the metal. Sweet maker, he didn’t want to, he tried not to, but as screwed up as it was, he hurt for her. A clawing unease deep in his gut, a pressure in his chest and no relief to be found.    

_Dammit!_ This wasn’t what he’d planned. Given what they did and who they did it for, anything more than a tumble or two was impossible. He knew the day would come. She’d promised him, it’s what he wanted, and he knew she’d keep her word. He just wasn’t sure he could walk away this time.

  

 

 

    

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the head-hopping in one part, but it's how it played out. Sometimes you just need two perspectives. 
> 
> Title inspired by song of the same name 'Build Me Up from Bones' by Sarah Jarosz.


	12. Bird on a Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven meets with Nine. The rest is sort of fluff.

Sheets wrapped around his legs, arm draped across her ribs, reminded Skavak again why entanglements were not his style. ‘Alone’ was such a simple word, dangerous, but unencumbered by the expectations of others. Fast and free was his motto with no remorse for the broken hearts, fractured lives and shattered bodies he’d left in the backwash of his passage. He never unpacked, stashing his bag behind a couch or by the door, handles up and easy to snatch on the way out. He held no mementos and followed the thirty-second rule where attachments were concerned. Sentiment was currency he had no use for; too painful to keep, too worthless to spend.

And yet...

It was a strange comfort, spending nights in Seven’s quarters, holding the woman while keeping words to the minimum of sex talk when bodies don’t say enough. No pillow promises or protestations of love, nothing enduring in the precarious nature of their lives. They never gave voice to the foregone conclusion of an ending or goodbyes that were frozen in the now.

Thel kept his counsel though his face was a tome of displeasure nobody wanted to read. The old man barked gruff affirmations to orders given and tolerated brief conversations about the job at hand. Skavak could tell it wore on Seven who doggedly went about her business while hanging on to the few precious hours shared only with him.

“This mysterious Cipher Nine,” Skavak ventured on the morning before they were due to dock. “She travel alone?”

“She travels with her husband. Or as near to a husband as most of us ever get,” answered Seven.

“Husband, huh? I thought that sort of thing was frowned on.”

“It’s not official, but let’s just say his family unit isn’t one even the Empire cares to cross. I can’t say any more.”

“Secret spy stuff?”

“It’s bad enough you know my face and Thel’s. I can’t expose another Cipher or her crew to an outsider.”

Outsider. The word should have cut, but it didn’t. Skavak’s mind flashed to Ky and all the steps he’d taken to keep her safe. “I get it.”

Seven’s palm was warm on his arm, her voice soft. “Of the many things I feel for you, trust is not one of them.”

Skavak’s teeth crunched into his piece of toast. He chewed on the bread and her words, neither going down easy when he swallowed. He never wanted the burden of her trust. A thing as profound as love—it couldn’t be bottled, bought, or sold. He seldom stayed in one place long enough to earn it, and when he had, he’d stabbed it through the heart. When the heat got too close, he ran and burned anything and anyone who got in his way. Seven knew he wasn’t above trading company secrets to get out of a jam.

 

The _Hedron_ lurched out of hyperspace, swaying Seven’s body into his where he stood behind her with hands on her shoulders.

“Takes a lot of people to man a ship like that,” Skavak observed the wedge of steel gray hung against the backdrop of space. A pie-shaped raptor nobody wanted to see in their sky. Lights twinkled in horizontal rows along the decks and rose like a pyramid of candles marking the tower and the bridge.  

“Skeleton crew, most likely.” Seven patted his hand. “As Keeper said, a ghost ship full of unsavory types like us. Spooks, bounty hunters, criminals, all predators needing a safe place to roost, hide, and heal. An unsanctioned freeport. All sorts of dirty deals are made here.”

“We’re landing,” announced Thel. “Better hang on to something. Wouldn’t want anything to get broken.”

“Aww, you do care,” quipped Skavak.

“I was talking to Seven.”  

Thel and Seven prepared to debark. Skavak found himself in the crew quarters, Seven standing just inside the door. “You’ll be safe here,” she said. “Nobody boards another’s ship uninvited.”

“Honor among thieves?” He stood an arm’s length away.

“Lockdowns and lockouts. Plus, I’d kill anyone who tried to take you.”

“Ah. Saving me for yourself?” Marked for death, he dropped the double entendre with all the subtly of a landmine.

A veil of apologetic sorrow draped across her face. “In a manner of speaking.” Her arm laced out and drug him close enough to plant a kiss on his lips. “Locking you in now. Stay quiet.”

“Sorry about the stubble burn on your chin,” he yelled out before sitting on his bunk, scooting back, and balancing his arm across the knee he’d pulled to his chest. 

The stark, gray walls closed in as he glared at the locked door. Blast the woman and her secrets and damn the Empire for making her keep them at the expense of the vibrant creature that came undone at his touch. Except for the secret of her tears, she’d locked herself down like a box of drawers without keys. The overheard conversation had told him just enough and stars, what it must have cost her to tap into those emotions the first time and every time they made love.

Life had hammered him into what he was, but Seven was conditioned over a span of years which was mind fuckery he couldn’t begin to comprehend. Fear triggers of slaves and chemical bondage of the sex trade was the closest he could imagine, and even they had more sense of self than Seven. He was who he was by choice, she’d not been accorded the same consideration and what price would she pay for letting him live? 

He stretched his shoulders and adjusted his hips on the thin mattress. Too much thinking and waiting scraped across his nerves like sandpaper. An abrading stasis that itched and burned knowing there was an end just over the horizon and he couldn’t move to see what form it took. He hated the blindside. Every time he got his footing, life did a barrel roll and knocked him on his ass. It didn’t help that he wanted what he had no right to want and a snowball's chance in hell of ever having.

#

“Your pet must be banging at the door to get out,” Thel snorted.

“He’s too smart for that. He’ll be quiet until it’s time not to be. We’ll know when that time comes.”

“You know what he’s capable of.”

“I do. Now hush before someone hears you. There’s our welcoming party now.” Seven inclined her head toward the tall man in leather armor standing by the door. A vibrostaff jutted above his shoulder, and fathomless black eyes seemed directed at them, but who could tell?

“Vector Hyluss?” Seven inquired.

The man nodded almost imperceptibly. “We have been waiting to guide you to our ship. She does not trust the security in this place.”

They followed the joiner down hallways littered here and there with the refuse of transients who felt no accountability for the trash they left behind. Impermanence and no sense of home left them free to dump what wasn’t worth carrying and debased the spartan, military bearing of this grand old lady of the line.

Spacers, traders, men with shifty eyes, the occasional soldier, and even the Mandalorians gave Vector a wide berth as he led them to the hangar where Nine’s Phantom rested. Only a lone Sith refused to step aside.    

Nine’s ship sat by itself, segregated from the transports, fighters, and freighters that filled the bulk of the hangar. The same sleek lines, identical to Seven’s _Hedron,_ though the outer skin showed the pits, dents and scorch marks of hard use and harder battles. Ghost or not, Nine had been busy.

“Please have a seat, Seven.” The woman with short, mousy hair and sharp brown eyes motioned to the chairs lining the conference table then turned to Vector. “Activate the dampening field, love.”

“Do you wish us to leave?” Vector asked when he turned from the bank of controls along the back wall.

“For this conversation, yes. Take Seven’s companion to the galley for refreshment. I’ll let you know when we’re through.”

“We are near should you need us.” Vector laid a reassuring hand on Nine’s shoulder before escorting Thel from the room.  

A twinge of envy needled through Seven’s mind at the overt display of affection. A useless emotion she pushed aside as she took a seat and folded her hands together on the tabletop. Slow, deliberate and in plain sight, Nine followed suit. No hidden agendas, nothing personal, suspicion ran like plasma in their veins.

“How much did Keeper tell you?” Seven began.

“Nothing except you were in transit. He seemed guarded. Tell me what you know.”

“You remember Watcher X?”

Nine’s brows crept up. “He saved my life. Twice, in fact. Please continue.”

Seven hadn’t expected that but gave no sign of interest while she recounted everything from Ferrous, the key, schematic, the Burnn clan, Omar Sten and The Camarilla to the assassination of agents. Two confirmed and others hinted at by Watcher X. The cherry on top was the suspected mole at headquarters.  

“Your thoughts?” asked Nine.

“I think the Cipher and SIS deaths are a diversion. Something to spin the wheels without really going anyplace.”

“I agree. And the other?”

“I need more information to even hazard a guess.”

Nine stared at her clasped hands and twiddled her thumbs, one over the other in a never-ending loop of motion. When she stopped and raised her eyes, a tired resignation pressed her demeanor into something akin to sadness. “Tell me what you need.”

Positive that the conversation was being recorded, Seven didn’t hesitate. “Haldis Burnn and his financial involvement with the Sith Emperor and Dromund Kaas. This will go back thirteen hundred fifty years. Any information on a secret society known as The Camarilla, probably dating back at least that far. Might want to look into Omar Sten and his brood. Possible R&D on a communications disruptor, and any mention of a hidden vault that can only be opened by a lover’s key.”

Nine cocked an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

“I need help breaking Watcher X out of Skip one-oh-one in the gyre. I can’t do this alone, and you’re the only one I trust at the moment.”

“What about the informant?”

Seven shrugged. “That’s Keeper’s problem. I can’t do everything for him.”

Nine shook her head. “You don’t ask for much do you?”

“I try to be reasonable.”  

“This man you travel with.”

Seven raised one hand slowly and drug her fingertips across her neck. Some conversations she preferred to keep private. “Thel?” she asked, stalling for time while Nine turned in her chair to cut the recording.

“No, the other one. You know what he is. You can’t save him.”

The thought of that marvelous, scheming, devious man lying dead send shockwaves through Seven’s heart. “I can try.”

Nine narrowed her eyes. “If you don’t go through with the sanction they will—”

Seven raised one hand to interrupt. “The Empire killed my hopes but not my dreams. They can’t have everything. I won’t let them.”        

“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing.”

“But it’s my game. So, you going to help or not?”

“You’ve piqued my curiosity. It’ll take a few days to get the information and the rest of my crew together. Ryloth is closer to Smuggler’s run, but Tatooine is friendly, and we can refuel. I’ll meet you there in two weeks.” Nine tilted her head, a grim smile touching her lips. “I hope this is worth it.”        

Seven caught the full meaning of what Nine tossed her way. Yes, the OP was worth it, and so was Skavak. She pushed her chair back and rose to leave. “You have a marketplace here?”

“One level down. Midship. Don’t speak of anything you don’t want overheard and watch your back.”

“Always do. See you in two weeks.”

 

Fists closed around the handles of two shopping bags, Seven stopped Thel before entering the ship. “Set course for Nar Shaddaa. We have a drop off to make and don’t tell him. I’ll take care of it.”

“Bout damned time.” Thel reached for the hatch release.

“Not going to get into this with you now.” She shook her head. “I’ve never done an ending like this before.”

“Alright, Seven. We’ll talk after.”

 _No, we won’t._ She stepped through the hatch.  

“I come bearing gifts.” Seven entered the crew quarters where Skavak lay sprawled across his bunk feigning sleep. She knew the rhythm of his breathing and that little pause before the next inhale was missing. “I know you’re awake.”

He did a passable impression of a one-eyed glare while stretching his mouth in a fake yawn of indifference. Sexy, sexy man, all pissed off and nowhere to go.

“Alright. Have it your way.” She set the two parcels by his bunk and turned to leave.

The old saying of ‘cold hands—warm heart’ would never fit the man who grasped her wrist with icy fingers. She wouldn’t change him for anything.

He tugged against her arm. “Help me up and let’s take a look at what a spy uses for bribes.”

He pulled three clear wrapped bundles from the first bag and laid them beside him then looked up, a bland expression on his face. “Underwear and socks? I shudder to think what you’ll want in exchange for these.”

“I have a few ideas, but yours _are_ getting a bit tatty.”

“That’s what happens when stuff gets washed every day, though I have to admire your practicality.”

“I paid attention in pragmatism class.”

“That, I can believe.” He pushed one bag aside and pulled the other closer. “What other treasures have you brought to beguile me?”

“I just hope they fit.” She watched him liberate two pairs of chinos and a cream-colored linen shirt. “There was a guy there built like you, and I asked what size he wore. I would have beat him unconscious and stripped him bare to get to those tags, but he gave up the information freely.”

“Lucky him.” He reached into the bag once more, a curious mix of delight and surprise crossing his face when he pulled the shirt into the light.

Cyrene silk in a shade of blue so pale it rivaled the ice floes of Hoth. It shimmered against the tan of his skin as his fingers caressed the fabric. A perfect compliment to his complexion and the color of his eyes.      

“Trying to get back in my good graces?” He stroked the back of his knuckles down her cheek.

“Is it working?”

He smiled, and nothing else existed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not everything has to be gloom and doom. Enjoy the fluff while you can. 
> 
> I gave a bit of homage to the 30-second rule from the movie 'Heat' which goes: "Don't let yourself get attached to anything you're not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner." I figured it would be something that would fit into Skavak's life quite nicely. 
> 
> Title taken from poem/song of same by the incomparable Leonard Cohen.


	13. No Sweet Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of smut, a lot of angst, sometimes you just gotta rip off the bandaid.

Five days since they’d left the freeport and Seven stood in the shower contemplating her next move. Every turn of her mind encountered a wall and ricocheted back to the same conclusion. Why couldn’t it have been some mutt-faced lunk instead of Skavak who’d blundered into her path on Semona? She could have pulled the trigger and walked away. Just another kill with no burden of conscience and no awakening of emotions best left entombed in oblivious slumber.

Too late by far, and in too deep, how the hell could she have let this happen? Her life had been ordered, each day a pristine list of do’s and don’ts mapped out with empirical precision. She wanted her old life back. She wanted him. A warring contradiction with only one outcome she’d known from the start.

Fear, unfamiliar and unwelcome raced the water down the lines of her body, splashed around her ankles, pooled at her feet. She wasn’t afraid of letting him go. A lie, of course, but one she’d learn to live with. What she feared most was never again feeling what Skavak made her feel.

Five days, and he’d remained as closed off and leery as she. No astounding revelations or insights, no whispered exposé or confession of future intent. Not that there was a future for an amoral, conniving trickster and an Imperial Agent on a short leash. Not like he’d hinted at any interest in continuation or expressed his undying devotion. They were nothing more than placeholders in the same bed. 

Hands braced against the wall, the water turned from hot to warm to icy pellets strafing her skin. She was stalling, waiting for the right time. She should have told him already, but in truth, she’d been a self-serving coward, holding on for dear life to every second with him in it. Tomorrow then, she’d break the news that would tear him out of her life forever. 

Wrapped in a towel, she opened the door and caught him in a moment of perfect profile; straight nose, slanted jaw and a tattoo that reflected the jagged edges of his soul. Slicked back hair and a sly cant to his mouth; he was glory, and sin, all things wondrous and wicked. The sight of him stunned her into silence and the inability to move.

“I was about to send a rescue squad.” Skavak pulled down the sheets on her side of the bed and patted the mattress. “Come here, you look half frozen.”

She’d lost him from the first, nothing but a quicksilver dream impossible to hold. This final night, this last time, she’d take as her own and never cast away. She blotted the ends of her hair, dropped the towel, and snuggled into the heat.

He shared his warmth, his touch like seasoning in her blood, on her skin, hot pepper and tamarind and just a hint of sugar to sweeten the bite. A recipe of feathery kisses and stroking hands, rubbing the chill away into a deep, dark recess just below her heart. She couldn’t help the cold knowledge that soon he’d be gone, and stars, she tried to hide it.

Maybe he saw it when she rolled to her back, and his face was inches from hers. He went still and, hell no, she’s better than this, hiding truth behind façades practiced for years. Suspicion flared from under his hooded lids, bright enough to hurt, and she won’t have it, not tonight. Tomorrow will come the wounding words that can’t be taken back. She twisted her fingers in his hair and pulled him down. Eyes obscured in the closeness, she probed his mouth for the sigh that mixed his air with hers. A blast of oxygen, a brief ignition—he moved, and he wanted.

Cock hardened against her thigh, teeth pinching the skin of her neck, hand kneading her breast, he stopped again and searched her face.

“Come back, Seven.” His breath smelled of mint and rum.

Words. His words snapped her back from the precipice of dread threatening to crumble the too few remaining hours.

She sank her nails into his shoulder. “Still here.”

A hint of white teeth glinted on the edge of a smile as his head lowered to her breast depositing one kiss on her nipple. Just one that turned her emotions inside out and sent an aching vortex of desire from collarbone to toes. She closed her eyes and centered on the quivering sensations as he traced a lazy path down her stomach. He shouldered her knees apart, his mouth whispering the only promises he could keep. She writhed under the swath of his tongue, and... he took her there. That high place where an avalanche lifted and swept her over the summit.

“I like when you call out my name.” He forged a trail of wet kisses up her body.

“I like how you make me call out your name.” Her fingers slid through his hair where it fell like an inky tapestry across his face.

Positioned between her thighs, the tip of his cock pressing for entry, she pushed on his shoulders and slid herself to the side. “On your back, scoundrel-boy.”

A naughty smile stretched his lips and crinkled the corners of his eyes as he flipped over carrying her with him. “Alright, spy-girl, show me what you’ve got.” 

_Cheeky bastard._ “You know damned well what I’ve got.”

“I do, but I’m always up for a reminder.”

Slow, easing down, filling up, filled by him, his thumbs and fingers latched on her hips, squeezing hard as she began the gentle rocking. Her gaze locked with his blue-eyed stare; beautiful schemer, smooth, charming, deceptively caring...Force damn him. Thighs quivering with the strain, muscles rippling, sweat giving a slick sheen to his chest, she quickened the pace. Rise up, slide down, the long stroke, his grip tightened, bruising her skin. A physical mark that would fade, unlike the indelible imprint of his touch.

His eyes rolled back and shut, so close now. “Oh, fuck, oh damn, Seven.” He went taut as a bowstring, holding her in place with fingers like steel clamps. Gushing warm inside, she arched her back and gave wordless thanks for this sliver, this taste of something she might never have known. By the time they finished, and he wrapped himself around her for the night, she was already letting him go.

“You’re up early,” Skavak strode into the common area and took a seat beside her on the couch where she sat sipping caf and going over files on her datapad.

“We need to talk.” She placed the datapad on the table and sat back.

“Nothing good ever started with those words, but, okay.”

Her heart drummed in her throat, and she would have sighed, but that would give too much of herself away. She leveled her voice, keeping it calm and distant. “Tomorrow we land on Nar Shaddaa. You’re free to go.”

His expression went from startled to angry. “That’s not what we agreed. I was to be there when you faced Ferrous.”

“I never made that agreement. This is Imperial business, and you have no place in it. I told you I wouldn’t harm you and I’d let you go. I’m keeping my part of the bargain.”

“Bargain? Is that all it was? What about us?” He switched from angry to earnest and almost made her believe she meant something to him.

Experience and training gave her the face she needed to wear but left her ill-prepared for the cutting edge of truth where he was concerned.

"There is no us." Quick and clean and nearly bloodless, she went suddenly cold as if she were bleeding out. “You think I don’t know why you wanted to stay? The lover’s key. The big score at the end of the hunt. It was never yours to find.”

He didn’t deny her accusation, assuming the stance of the injured party instead. “I should have known. You got the information you needed, what use was I then? Oh yeah, let’s not forget the bedroom. Sweet touch, and shame on me for thinking I might be more than the mission.” 

He was changing the rules, and damn, it hurt. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into his lap and press the lie that all would be well onto his lips, but too late for that. Want had nothing to do with the reality of two lives never intended to converge.

She set a deliberate curl to her lip and added the poison of disdain to her voice. “The role of victim doesn’t suit you, and I’d say we both got what we wanted. You never complained.”

The vitriol when he spoke stung like a slap. “Prisoners don’t get to complain, and I’ve had better.”

Tit for tat then. “So have I.”

With a sigh of resignation, he rose from the couch, and if she didn’t know him better, she could have sworn a twinge of regret and loss darkened his eyes. “You played me after all. Well done, Agent.”

The game was over, and she’d won nothing. “Thel will return your weapons before you leave.”

Skavak flung the last barb with deadly accuracy and knew the right buttons to push. “What’s the matter, Seven? Not brave enough to watch me walk away?”

She didn’t recall the passage of time from morning to night, and though she’d had the droid change the bedding and replace the pillows, sleep remained a stranger.

Memories are vengeful bedpartners, lingering subtle and aching like phantom limbs itching just beyond the reach of scratching. The bleak expanse of the sheets was a wasteland she had no will to face and the closed door of the crew quarters served as a reminder of the walls built around her life.

She still paced the corridors when the ship lurched out of hyperspace and shuddered as the tractor beam guided them to the spaceport landing bay. Murmured voices, distant footsteps, the hiss of the hatch opening, the whine of the exit ramp extending reached her ears where she sat in the galley.

“Good riddance, I’d say.” Thel stuck his head around the doorframe.

She nodded and made her way down the corridor to the crew quarters, stopping outside the open door. Finality waited inside that room, beckoning her to enter and be done with it. For all her skills, she didn’t know how to navigate around this, so she’d power through as always.

“Top off the fuel and see to supplies.” Her voice came out wooden and disconnected. “Give me two hours. I’ll be fine.”

“He never loved you.” Thel placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder as if stating the obvious somehow made it better.

“I know, but it was nice to pretend for a while.” She slid from under his hand and closed the door behind.

Lit by ambient lighting the only bright spot in the room was a splash of pale blue wadded in the center of the lower bunk. Skavak’s parting statement. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and couldn’t do either. Suffocating in his scent, she crawled atop the blanket and curled herself around the silken fabric reconciling to the fact that she meant no more to him than this crumpled remnant so easily left behind.

Too hollow to release the tears that burned behind her eyes, she used the grief as a blunt instrument to remind herself of who and what she was. An Imperial Agent, a spy, and she had a fucking job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a wait for such a short chapter, but I just wanted to get this parting over with. I'd added some bits on Tatooine but they didn't really fit with the tone, so took them back out. Hope you enjoy, regardless.


	14. An Odd Debt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine and Seven talk about the past, Skavak gets an unexpected request, Kamarr is a sick puppy
> 
>    
> Warning for non-graphic hints of torture and sexual slavery.

Mos Ila, more than a garrison, less than a city with the Imperial penchant for order and cleanliness mocked by the ever-present layers of dust and sand. Domed adobe buildings squatted here and there, while giant durasteel structures sat like misplaced monoliths denoting barracks, warehouses, and offices of the Empire. Troops in full armor paraded by with their personal cooling units whispering as they passed. Locals lounged in whatever slips of shade they could find as officers and non-coms scurried from building to building in a vain attempt to escape the oppressive heat.        

Stepping out of the relatively cool interior of the spaceport was akin to walking into an open kiln. Multiple days without much sleep left Seven’s eyes as dry and red as a Tatooine sunrise. She squinted against the glare. Grit crunched under her boots setting her teeth on edge, and the duel suns siphoned the moisture from her skin like a cruel mouth sucking on a straw. Tatooine; where everything was combustible including tempers and evidently, the human body. _Bloody hell._ She hated this planet. The grim set to Thel’s mouth revealed the same mindset as he trudged along beside her.

Why Nine insisted they leave the _Hedron_ in the spaceport and travel to Mos Anek Seven didn’t know, but the agent likely had a point, whatever it was. Over the hill and in the distance, shuttles sat in a line like vultures on a limb, their silhouettes rippling in the undulating heat waves rising from the sand.

“I’m getting too old for this shit.” Thel adjusted his grip on the tactical gear bag slung over his shoulder.

“Me too.” Seven ignored the weight of her duffel and increased the pace just to piss him off.

“Bitch,” he grunted.

“Prick,” she countered, grateful for the first hint of a smile she’d had in days.

The trip to Mos Anek was at least half-way comfortable although the temperature of this Force-damned world seemed to hover between sweat-your-ass-off and tepid no matter where you were. By the time the shuttle landed, and they debarked, Seven’s mood had turned sour again. She’d have given a month’s pay and somebody’s first born child for a cold shower.

A trim woman with short dark hair and upper crust Kaasian accent approached and introduced herself. “Raina Temple, sir. She sent me to guide you. The speeders are over there.”

“And just where are you taking us?”

“Through the canyons. Not far. Please follow me.”

“I’ll want to kill something small and warm-blooded before this is over,” grumbled Thel as he fell in line.

“I could always push you into the middle of a womp rat nest,” Seven chuckled at Thel’s rolling eyes and answering growl.

 

Walls of rock hundreds of feet high and striated with the colors of ages old sediment told the tale of creation as they wound their way to an unknown destination. For over an hour they curved left and right finally entering the depths of a tunnel leading to an open area. A freighter sat like a squat toad on the sand.

“Didn’t you just leave one of these pieces of shit on Dromund Kaas not too long ago?” Thel dismounted and scanned the vessel through shielded eyes.

“I believe I did.” Seven gathered her bag and trailed Temple up the gantry ramp into the dim interior of the ship where Nine waited.

“I think you’ll appreciate the improvements we’ve made to this piece of shit,” said Nine as she closed the hatch before yelling down the corridor. “Kaliyo, get us in the air. You know the destination.”

“Yeah, yeah. On it,” came the reply.

Gear stowed, real water shower taken, and fresh clothes on, Seven met with Nine in the conference room. Hopefully, the Cipher had good news and enough solid intel to formulate at least a half-assed plan.

Security protocols engaged, offered whiskey accepted, Seven took a seat and waited for Nine to begin.

Nine’s gaze met hers, heavy with the same haunted burden that all Ciphers carry. “The shadow falls upon us again. A lesser version of lesser men, but still dangerous.”

“The Camarilla?”

Nine inclined her head. “The brainchild of one Aldius Burnn, the original organization was formed close to two millennia ago, comprised of financiers, communications and manufacturing moguls, and heads of state. It was hinted that higher-ups in the Ministry of Defense were also involved.

“Men who whispered in ears, eliminated competitors and drove the course of destiny. In other words, people of not only wealth but power. Membership followed lineage, and the one unbreakable rule was to keep the Camarilla’s secrets. The only way out was familicide. A rather effective guarantee for compliance.”

Old knowledge crept up Seven’s spine and pinged a memory. “Sounds familiar, but it’s not the first time a group of wealthy pricks formed a secret society.”

“Indeed not, and the Star Cabal held no monopoly on the writing of history.”

“You said the original. You don’t think this new group is the same?”

“Who knows? It’s probable some of the descendants of the old guard are members, but the roster could read like a current day who’s who. I think it’s led by a member of the Burnn family.”      

Seven weighed the possibilities. “After that debacle with the bearer bonds, the Emperor had Burnn’s compound, and half the damned planet bombed into rubble. Supposedly, no one survived.”

“I’m not so sure. Watcher X is just the beginning of new rumblings, and the key is simply another indication that the Burnn bloodline is far from dead.” A sly grin ghosted across Nine’s face. “But this is really gonna curl your hair.”

Seven sat up straight in her chair. “I’m all ears.”

“In 1327 BTC, the Emperor and the remaining Sith established a new capital on Dromund Kaas after twenty years of wandering. Did you ever wonder where they got the finances?”

“Keeper brought up the same point when he mentioned Burnn. According to historical archives, the man appeared out of nowhere. Although Keeper mentioned the Camarilla, I don’t know if he made any confirmed connection between the two.”

Nine clasped both hands around her glass. “Haldis Burnn was the front man for the Camarilla, and it was Republic backed credits that funded the initial rebuilding of the Sith Empire. How’s that for irony?” 

“Why the hell would they do that after twenty years of peace following the Hyperspace War?” Seven pinched the bridge of her nose, her brows arching as the truth dawned. “Oh, I see. Peacetime didn’t quite live up to expectations for financial returns.”

“Exactly. War is infinitely more profitable. Munitions, vehicles, ships, pharmaceuticals, food, clothing, every industry benefits,” said Nine.

“War profiteering and galactic domination often feed the same hunger, but this resurrected Camarilla stinks of something else.”

Nine shrugged. “Maybe. The founding members had to have known the risks and relied on vows of secrecy to avoid prosecution or execution. They quietly profited from the rebuilding of the Republic while also laying the foundation for the Sith. As it was, it took the Empire a thousand years before reemerging onto the galactic stage. And you can damn well bet they were playing both sides.”

“Huh,” Seven grunted. “Talk about long term investment.”

“You have to admire the tenacity and planning if nothing else.” Nine drug her hand over her mouth and chin. “Each family built their financial empire and their legacy on betrayal.”

“I have to wonder why this information hasn’t been used.”

Nine shook her head. “Who’s to say it hasn’t? After two centuries of infighting without Burnn’s leadership, the Camarilla fell into disarray. The heinous deed was already done, pacts of silence agreed to, and records destroyed. Each went their own way, and over time, the Camarilla dissolved into nothing more than rumors from the distant past. The following generations had no idea what their ancestors had wrought. The wars resumed, and the credits rolled in. Status quo until now.”

“You think this new Burnn knows?”

“I do, and what’s a little blackmail among friends to get the band back together? From what I’ve gleaned, Haldis Burnn was charismatic and highly organized, but with a wide streak of paranoia. Regardless of his personal proclivities, he had to have kept records and likely copies of those records off world. Some accounting of embezzlement from government coffers, public funds diverted, misappropriations into shell corporations. Why use corporate funds when a little creative accounting could provide most of what they needed? I’d say our baby Burnn found something that led to his forefather’s secrets as evidenced by the discovery of the key and the schematics.”

Foreboding rose like a cloud and settled on Seven’s shoulders. “This is an act of spite for what the Emperor did to his family over thirteen hundred years ago. Ruin the economy, disrupt communications, hamstring Intelligence, sew discord all to bring the Empire to its knees.”   

Nine’s eyes bored into Sevens. "Imagine the cascade effect. Disgruntled Republic planets could secede, those planets annexed to the Empire in the Treaty of Coruscant would revolt. How many Imperial worlds chafe under the rule of the Sith? The outcry would be deafening. A new separatist movement under Burnn’s control would form on a galactic scale, and both sides would crumble under the assault. A game is equal with two players on the field, add a third, and it becomes chaos. The heavens would weep with billions of lives lost. This has to end now.” A wry chuckle escaped Nine’s lips. “Stars, I’m starting to sound like my very poetic husband.”             

A pang of longing so profound it hurt pierced through Seven’s chest. She shoved the image of Skavak to the bottom of her empty glass and willed it away with a sigh. “That doesn’t leave us with much of a window. We need to find the other key. I have the feeling it unlocks more than a few trillion credits worth of bonds. Do you have a list of member names?”

Nine tapped her datapad. “The original list, yes, though some names may no longer be valid. Watcher will know. We need to either destroy both keys or get to whatever they unlock before Burnn does.”

Seven narrowed her eyes. “My key’s the only leverage we’ve got, and I’m not ready to melt it down just yet. One thing’s for sure, the Burnn family has to be eliminated for good this time. Cut off the head permanently.”

Nine nodded in agreement. “We need to get to Watcher first.”

Seven got up and poured a refill. “So, what’s the plan for Skip one-oh-one?”

#

A faint beeping invaded Skavak’s hungover and sleep-addled brain. He raised his eyelids just enough to wish he hadn’t and clamped them shut against the glare of light pouring through the window. A weight lay on his abdomen, pressing on a too full bladder. His mouth was dry, his teeth felt fuzzy, and that fucking beeping wouldn’t go away.

He rubbed the heels of his hands across his eyes, drug his fingers down his face and braved the light again. Ignoring the pinpricks of pain as his pupils adjusted, he turned his head on a neck gone stiff from lying in one position too long. He frowned at the mass of blonde hair crowning the face of a stranger.     

With a groan, he shoved her thigh off his stomach, untangled the sheets from his feet, sat up, and waited for the vertigo to pass. To stand and walk were whole new adventures as he stumbled to the refresher and took a morning piss that was nearly orgasmic in its relief. He sighed and wrinkled his nose at the smell of his own breath. Being a creature of the night, he hated mornings and all the nerfshit that came with them, including getting rid of the woman who now lay sprawled on his bed.

Must have been fun while it lasted. Skavak smirked at the smudge of lipstick halfway up his thigh before grabbing the woman’s ankle and giving it a good shake. “Get up, sweetheart. Time for you to go.”

Mumbles and grumbles and same old story. She wanted to stay for breakfast. He had places to be, things to do. His head thumped like a cheap drum as he bent over to pick up her blouse and one shoe sticking out from under the bed. He just wanted her gone.

“See you again?” She sidled closer and looked a hell of a lot rougher than she had at 3 am. through a drunken haze.

“Sure, baby.” He brushed her mouth with his and guided her none too gently to the door, practically slamming it in her face.

The beeping started again. Skavak found his datapad in the pocket of the jacket he’d slung over the back of the chair and winced as his naked ass dropped onto the cold leatheris seat. Still bleary-eyed, he blinked and tried to focus on the screen. The blurry edges of the ID numbers snapped into crystal clarity as recognition slammed his muzzy head back into the land of the sober. A place he hadn’t visited much of late.

Fucking Ferrous. What the hell did he want? Skavak thought he was done with this. He should have blocked the ID, should have deleted that old account, but he hadn’t. The subliminal reasons surfaced with the cruelty of a gut punch and stayed his hand from pressing disconnect.

What if Seven was hurt? What if she needed him? What the hell was he supposed to do about any of it? Sweet Maker, what if she was dead? Why should he care? Why indeed, but he did. _Dammit._

Skavak opened the channel and typed.

‘What?’        

_(No time. Is she coming?)_

‘Yes. Likely two or three days out.’

_(Have to get a message to her.)_

‘So, send it.’

_(Narrowband. Don’t know frequency. You have to send.)_

‘Why would I do that?’

_(You know. Don’t deny. If she slices the lift they will be caught. Tranq gas. I have code. Once inside they have a chance.)_

‘OK. Where? How?)

_(Safehouse. 127 Belmond. Alley on left. Second floor. Entry code 37794. Wideband transmitter. Imp frequency. Set to repeating loop, then get out.)_

‘I’ll do this, then I’m gone. New ship delivered in 2 days. Not waiting around.’

_(No. She needs you. Stay on NS. Hide. They know you are there. She will find you.)_

‘No promises. Give me code. Don’t contact again. I’m done.’

The call ended, Skavak slouched in the chair and heaved a beefy sigh that flattened his abs against his ribs. She still lived. Ferrous had taken a big chance to get the code to him and would be damned lucky to be alive when and if they succeeded in their rescue mission.

 _Shit._ Skavak berated himself for going from dumb to dumber, and here he’d always thought that with age came wisdom. He didn’t owe Seven a damned thing, and yet...Aw, hell. A dry chuckle scraped its way out of his chest. Women had bought him things before. Expensive, exotic, but the gift of underwear. Now that required a certain recompense.

#

Kamarr Sten disconnected the call, a smile creeping across his face and wrinkling the scars along his jaw. His ever-widening net of infiltrators, hunters, and information brokers was paying off. He’d learned from his contact at Sith Intelligence that Skavak had a sanction and yet the agent had let him go as evidenced by his current presence on Nar Shaddaa. Interesting.

The man must be of importance to the spy, perhaps enough to use as a bargaining chip in exchange for the other key. He’d given strict instructions that the man was to be followed and not apprehended unless he tried to leave. Kamarr wanted that honor for himself.

His hand trembled in anticipation as he set the navicomputer for the Smuggler’s Moon and entered hyperspace. Mental images and imagination run wild, his cock was hard enough to pound nails, but it was a different pounding he had in mind. Two slaves chained in his cargo hold, one male, one female. Decisions, decisions. Ah, yes. The male would get it right this time, or there’d be blood on the floor.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got punch drunk from fighting this chapter. It made sense, then it didn't, then it did. Finally, my old brain said screw it and let the chips fall where they may. My convoluted way of thinking goes around the bend sometimes, so please forgive the inequities. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, regardless.


	15. Looking for Exits in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter courtesy of Mr. Skavak.

 

Skavak reached for the hand towel to dry his freshly shaved face. He didn’t want it, but the memory intruded anyway. One of the few times when Seven dropped her barriers outside the bed they shared.  

_She’d sat by the sink, head cocked and gaze intent, observing every stroke of the razer with rapt attention._

_Neck stretched, chin jutted upward, razer poised, he’d glanced sideways. “You’re making me nervous.”_

_“I doubt you know the meaning of the word.” The edges of her eyes crinkled with humor. “I love how you contort your face like a tiny mouse sniffing at a fresh baked muffin.”_

_“A tiny mouse, huh?” He’d caught a bit of shaving cream on his finger and tapped the end of her nose leaving a dollop of white behind._

_She’d swiped it away with the palm of her hand. “If only this were whipped cream.”_

_“An interesting proposition. What would you do if it was?”_

_She’d cast a wicked smile his way and stood up. “I’d back you into the wall and lick you from here.” She touched his lower lip. “To here.” Her dragged index finger stopped at his Adam’s apple._

_His eyes met hers. “And then?”_

_She didn’t blink. “I’d go south.”_

_She’d waited for him to finish then made good on the threat or the promise. Didn’t matter which, and no whipped cream required._

A familiar heat pooled in his groin. He shifted his weight, glowered at his reflection and threw the towel into the sink. The Imperial crossed his mind way too often, and he couldn’t decide if he was angrier with her or himself.

“Her,” he grunted. “Definitely her.” After all, she was the one who threw him away.

Dressed, at last, he jammed his feet into his boots and slipped into his jacket. One final thing to do and he’d be shed of Ferrous, Seven and the whole damned mess. The delivery of his new freighter in two days guaranteed his freedom. He had just enough contacts left to dip his toe back into the cold waters of what he knew best. One way or another, he’d find a way to purge the spy from his system. Distance and work were good places to start.

 

Six levels beneath the main concourse of the Red Light District, hookers brazenly touted their wares in doorways and on street corners. A far cry from the high-end brothels up above. Nothing pretty here, even the young carried an air of tired acceptance.

Small time drug dealers jockeyed for space, twitchy-eyed and tremoring hands from dipping into their own stock. _Fools_. _Never get high on your own supply._ First rule of the trade. Profits dwindle to nothing, and no one comes back from that kind of debt. Kingpins don’t deal in promises and payments come due in credits or flesh.

The whole place reeked of alleyway sex, the sweet smell of spice-laced smoke and the cloying stench of decay. It got worse in the levels below where Bleeder Gangs ruled and the currency was body parts and blood. No one tracked the missing and, on those streets, everyone was cattle. He’d been there once and had no desire to return.  

Nar Shaddaa; excess and desperation. The haves, the have nots, and those trying to get theirs at any cost. Skavak pulled his collar up and walked on, hand on blaster grip and eyes always moving. Stars, he’d be glad to be rid of this shithole.

Skavak stopped at the crossroads of Archer and Belmond to listen. He’d been in the game too long not to know he’d picked up a tail somewhere along the way. His neck hairs prickled and an unease tightened the muscles between his shoulder blades. More residential and far less traveled than cantina row made filtering sound easier. He sidestepped and waited for the double footsteps behind to catch up and pass him by, the chatter of two men fading into the distance. Ears perked for the snick of a trigger, the whoosh of a dart, the shuffle of a foot, Skavak remained still long enough to glance up at the street sign as if getting his bearings. With a shrug, he took a right and moved on.

He doubted the sanction with Sith Intelligence had been rescinded. The GenoHaradan was still looking for Ky, and he likely had a bounty or two on his head from disgruntled associates. Whoever it was, was damned good, and all he could do was let it play out.

127 Belmond, rundown, derelict, peeling paint and no lights on, hardly inviting and the alley to the left even less so. Narrow, dark and littered with refuse, a dead end with no way out except the way he’d come and the shadowed vestibule up a short flight of steps to his right. He tried the door just in case someone had been there before him and broken in, but it remained firmly locked. He stopped to listen; nothing out of place inside or out. The keypad flickered into a pale green glow at his touch, backlit with enough illumination to see the numbers. 37794, he keyed in the code, the lock clicked, the panel slid open, and he stepped inside.

A single fluorescent sputtered to life activated by a hidden motion sensor, it's light contained by blackout window film. Sparsely furnished, utilitarian, he spied the foot of a bed through a door off the kitchenette. Not intended for long stays, a place to recoup for a few hours, the only sign of life the blinking standby on a comms terminal set on a desk against the wall.     

Skavak swiped a thin patina of dust from the display and pressed the input button. The screen flickered, turning from gray to black with one word in red letters flashing in the upper left corner. **Ready.**      

_Here goes nothing._ He flexed his two index fingers and began to type. **_Xtrapolate. Blue shirt to fourth root of 2401. Sliced bread, no good. Lift snare. Bad fog. forn-besh-alphaResh-esk-esk-alphaOsk-cresh._**

_Sweet Maker, please let her get this in time._ He hit send. The machine sat idle with only a faint whirring to indicate it was working at all. Skavak stared at his message, waiting for what seemed like hours. His words disappeared, followed by a single question. **Repeat?**

_Bloody hell_. **Yes.** He entered the reply. More whirring, more waiting. **Days to terminate transmission?** Seven had to be close, he opted for safety. **5** -enter. The screen cleared again. Skavak tapped his foot, impatient for confirmation. **Transmission sent. Repeat on loop. 5 days.**

“About damned time,” he grumbled as the tension eased from his knotted shoulders.

Surfaces wiped clean, including the entry panel, he walked away from the safehouse. The only surprise encountered, a rat that scurried across the instep of his boot halfway down the darkened alley. He gasped, the rat squeaked, and that was the extent of any conversation Skavak was in the mood for. Damn, he needed a drink to come down from the rat induced adrenaline surge and maybe catch sight of the prick who had him in his crosshairs.

Three levels up, the Bent Shaft Cantina run by Noonum Grov, an old acquaintance with no particular ax to grind. Small time drug dealer, part-time fence, Noonum wasn’t a big enough fish for Skavak to bother screwing over. He did have his finger firmly stuck in the gossip wheel, however, and right now, Skavak needed information.

Too early in the day to draw a crowd except for the habitual drunks who never seemed to leave, the cantina was low on customers which suited Skavak just fine. “The usual?”, Noonum asked as Skavak sauntered by the bar. One nod and Skavak found his way to a booth in the back with a full view of the entrance.

Towel thrown over a shoulder, a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, Noonum slid into the booth. “Where the hell ya been, Tam?” he asked while pouring a long shot into both glasses.

Skavak took a sip, his eyes shifting between the man and the door. “Been off the grid for a bit. Personal shit. Anything new on the boards?”

“Not much. Slaving run for the Hutts, if you’re interested.”

“Don’t do slaving runs anymore. Too hard to get the smell outta my ship.” In truth, he’d lost the taste for it, especially when kids were involved, but he wasn’t going to tell Noonum. Maintaining his reputation wouldn’t allow it.

“Couple of spice runs, not much profit though, and nothing in wetwork or sabotage. Seems you’re shit outta luck, kid.”

“I’ll find something.” Skavak shrugged.

“I’m sure you will, but not here.” Noonum leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Word on the street is people are looking for you. Not the usual assholes, but something new. Sounds like bad business.”

“New players always are.”

Noonum narrowed his eyes and waited, finally leaning back when Skavak didn’t offer any details. “Keep your secrets.” He stood up. “Take the bottle with ya. On the house.”

Skavak reached in his pocket and slapped a fifty on the table. “Tell Noni to buy something pretty. She deserves it for putting up with you.”

Noonum chuckled, swiped the credit chip off the table and headed back to the bar.     

Skavak refilled his glass, barely tasting the rum. His mind twisted in a cat's cradle of plans forming and unraveling like skeins of yarn. As always, his thoughts circled back to the agent.      

He'd used women plenty of times to further his agendas. Theft, blackmail, industrial espionage, and swindling the naïve for a hiding place and credits when he was on the lam. Women had a type, and he fit the bill for most, sweet-talking his way into the beds of the spoiled, the thrill seeker, and the lonely, forgotten by men who abandoned their wives in the pursuit of power.

Seven wasn’t some witless ninny, clingy bimbo or bored, wealthy socialite. Hell, he wasn’t sure she fit into any category at all. And that was the problem.

She’d been right. He’d planned to get to whatever lay at the end of her mission and discover what treasures a lover's key might unlock. Perhaps abscond with enough to make it worth his while, maybe even glean information about Sith Intelligence he could sell to the highest bidder. But somewhere along the way all that had changed. He'd wanted to know _her_ secrets. Not the secrets of the empire, but all of those parts she kept hidden. Her past, fears, dreams, loves, hates, and hopes for the future.

The spy had gotten under his skin, and no salvage operation in the universe would recover what he’d lost. A bitter pill to swallow along with the fact that he’d left the shirt behind not because it meant something to her, but because it meant something to him.

Regret. A foreign emotion and dangerous for someone in his line of work.

He swigged the dregs in the bottom of the glass and scanned the room. When had it started to fill up? Sonofabitch. The woman was gonna to get him killed if he didn’t get his shit together.  

Two more days and he’d be gone. The vast black between worlds was dandy for dumping extra baggage and facing demons he never knew he had.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of goings on in Skavak's mind. Short chapter, but it was a good place to end this one.


	16. Those We Leave Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations and other stuff.

“If we may?” Vector extended his hand to take the key.

Seven dropped it into his palm. “I don’t know what you hope to find.”

The joiner’s unsettling gaze fixed on the metal he held between his fingers. “There is a resonance here. A yearning that ripples like silt in a river that no longer flows.” He licked his lips. “We taste sadness. We see the aura diminished by loss and the pain of lovers torn apart.”

He set the key on the table and pushed it toward Seven. “The key’s mate cannot be duplicated. They were forged as a whole, bonded forever. The molecules weep and remember the day of sundering. It longs for reunion. It is a living thing.”

Seven picked up the key, avoiding Vector’s eyes that saw too much. A resonance of yearning, an aura of loss. Skavak skimmed across her mind, wispy and distant like a dream lost on awakening.

She tucked the key into the inside pocket of her jacket. “Well, that’s one good piece of news. Thank you.”

Silence, dry and waiting to crack, settled on the room. Vector deposited a kiss on Nine’s cheek and left. Seven pretended not to see. “How do you do it?” she asked, “make room in your life for something that could be gone in an instant.”

Nine glanced at the closed door. “Vector was unexpected. A greater gift than someone like me deserved.”

“Unexpected,” Seven echoed. “Isn’t that always how it goes?”

“People like us don’t have the luxury of growing into love. No childhood sweethearts, no schoolgirl crushes or long walks with sweaty palms and stolen kisses. We have no reference. For us, it’s lightning in a bottle. I was fortunate enough to hold on and not get burned.”

Seven walked to the sidebar to pour a drink, sitting back down when Nine declined her offer. Honeyed fire slid down Seven’s throat, giving her pause and a momentary illusion of warmth. She stared at the amber liquid, the caramel contents of the glass easier to face than the agent. “And if you lost him?”

A deep inhale, a long sigh, and Nine answered. “I know what you’re doing, and you can’t compare the two men. Vector was already a loyal servant to the Empire. It was his home. Now, I’m his home and trust is the foundation for the love we share. Skavak is a wild card. We both know his shortcomings, and they are many.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Seven’s tone turned sharp and bitter. “What if you lost him?”

“I’d never get over it.”

“Ah,” Seven breathed. “Finally, you understand.”

A dull rap thudded on the door before it slid open and Thel stuck his head through the opening. “Seven. You gotta see this.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Thel strode into the room followed closely by Temple who activated a screen hanging above the comm station.

“Sorry to intrude, but this might be important.” Temple’s fingers flew over the various buttons. “You know I monitor chatter on the Imperial frequency. Most of its normal stuff until I saw this.” She paused the scrolling data.

Seven crowded closer and stopped when Thel tapped at one particular passage with his finger. “Only the three of us knew about the shirt. It’s from him.”

Seven’s pulse ratcheted into a jackhammer pounding at her ribs.  “How? Why?”

“Your boy’s for shit with wordplay subtlety,” said Thel. “Look at that first word. It can only be Ferrous, better known as Watcher X, and any idiot can figure out that 7 is the fourth root of 2401.”

Seven reached out and traced the lines on the screen as if she could touch their author by sheer force of will. “The rest is a warning.” Her words barely a whisper.

“And a code,” said Nine.

Thel dragged his fingers across his jaw and chin, nails rasping on the stubble. “A trapped turbolift, tranq gas or poison, and slicing’s a no go. The alphanumeric code is easy to figure, but where the hell do we use it?”

“I don’t think we’ll know until we get there,” answered Nine.

“You sure Kaliyo’s intel is accurate?” asked Thel. “‘Cause this puts a whole new spin on shit.”

Nine leaned her hip against the console and crossed her arms. “Kaliyo has contacts in places even I fear to tread, and she’s not known for reacting kindly to misinformation. Her intel’s good, but likely not complete as we just found out.”

“Dandy,” Thel huffed. “Back to that old saying that’s served me well, ‘adapt or die.’”

“It’s served us all.” Nine patted the older man’s shoulder and motioned for Temple to follow as she left the room.

The unasked question lay like driftwood on Seven’s tongue. Storm-tossed by conflicting emotions and bleached lifeless by dread. She turned to face the ginger. “Thel?”

“Yeah, Seven. Your boy’s in trouble. This’ll be traced back to Nar Shaddaa, and Keeper’s going to figure it out. He’ll send someone else since you reneged on the sanction, and there’ll be hell to pay.”

Seven squared her shoulders, resolve hardening her spine into a girder of steel. “Then I’ll pay it, but Skavak shouldn’t have to. Watcher X and I dragged him into this shitshow, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him die for my mistakes. I should never have left him.”

“A bit late for that now, don’t ya think? Hell, you’re already off script, one step away from insubordination and two steps from treason. You know damned well, the Old Man is gonna recall you after this.”

“No, he won’t. He needs me to finish. He’s got a mole in his house, information he needs to keep close to his chest, and only one agent to see this through. He knows I’ll complete the mission, and I’ve got something he doesn’t.” Seven patted the front of her jacket.

Thel’s brows rose with understanding. “The key. But what if he activates Nine to take it?”   

“Nine’s a free agent, and Keeper can’t activate shit. She’s too smart to get sucked back in by getting involved with internal affairs that would have her name all over it. That crap with Jadus was a once burned, twice shy as far as she’s concerned. There’s no love lost between her and the Sith. She broke those chains long ago, and I doubt we’ll ever know the full extent of that story. She’s made it quite clear that she owes a debt to Watcher X and once he’s free, she’s done. She’s not going to jeopardize her autonomy for a mission she knows I’ll finish one way or another.”

“You could use the key as leverage.”

“Blackmail?” A chuckle filled with equal parts consideration and dismissal wormed its way up her throat. “That would only piss the Old Man off and make him double down. It’s not a line I’m willing to cross just yet.”

“And Skavak?”

Her laughter stopped like a wounded thing with nowhere to go. “Can you get a message to him?”

“Maybe, if he hasn’t changed his account settings. What do you want me to say?”

“Just one word; Run.”

#

Seven ate to maintain her strength and caught a few hours of fitful sleep each night to stave off exhaustion. Memory and what-ifs caught her in a spiral of personal neglect where nothing mattered except her need to return to Nar Shaddaa. Her implants would provide extra oxygenation or tap her adrenals for temporary boosts of energy, and stims would take care of the rest.

A day and a half from Smugglers Run, Dr. Eckard Lokin wandered out of the locked medbay, grabbed a bag of caf beans, and gave her a cursory nod before locking himself back inside. Always a secretive old fuck, Nine hadn’t mentioned his presence and Seven wasn’t about to ask. Nine’s ship, Nine’s rules. Professional courtesy all around.  

Lokin joined them in the conference room when they exited hyperspace at the mouth of Smuggler’s Run. Nine stood up to address the group. “We’re going in as a delivery freighter with docking codes provided by Kaliyo’s contact. Other than that, we’re going to be working blind on this one. We have a rough layout of the upper level, mostly storage rooms. There is a mainline conduit that runs along the central corridor and branches out here and there. We have no idea what it’s for, maybe power, maybe security feeds, maybe traps. Likely all of the above. Kaliyo will provide a distraction after Thel cuts into the lines.”

“That’ll set off an alarm or two,” said Thel.

“Blowing up shit usually does.” Kaliyo cast a grin his way that would make babies cry.     

Nine cleared her throat. “Temple will stay with the ship to lay down cover in case we have to come in hot. Vector and Lokin will take point to get Thel where he needs to be, Seven and I will go dark once the power is cut.”

“What kind of resistance are we looking at?” asked Lokin.

Nine quirked a brow and fixed him with a pointed stare. “Does it really matter?”

Something less than human flashed across Lokin’s eyes. “No, I suppose not.”

Nine’s attention scanned from face to face. “The main objective is the turbolift. Get in, use the code, rescue Watcher X, get out. Stay on mission. No excess and no dramatics, Kaliyo.”

The Rattataki’s eyes widened with mock innocence. “As if.”

“And who flies us through the gyre?” asked Thel.

“Kaliyo can activate the navicomputer’s drift chart to get us through Smuggler’s Run, but Vector will take us through the gyre.” She laid her hand on her still seated husband’s shoulder. “He has a special affinity with the universe and is the only one I trust to navigate such a treacherous expanse.”

Seven knew her part to play and let Nine’s voice drift off into a distant hum, background noise for troubles that seeped into every nook and cranny of her being. Thel had sent the message, but had Skavak received it in time? Had he received it at all? He knew how to run, but would he? Blast Imperial protocols, she should never have let him go. Blinded by hindsight, crippled by worry, caged by honor and duty; stars, she wished she’d never met the man that fate kept throwing back into her path. Dammit, she missed him.

#

Vector threaded his way through the gyre using boosters, thrusters and whatever second sight he possessed. Sometimes he followed the orbital path of an asteroid, often dodging anomalies only he could see, or sense. Beautifully colored cyclones of cosmic dust danced along the currents of gravitational drifts, while distant ion storms discharged lightning flashes of silver and violet.

Debris from a planet destroyed long ago sizzled across the shields, and there, amid all the turmoil a small moon thumbed its defiance and survived. Skip 101, pockmarked and barren, the man-made maw of a landing bay grinned a somber greeting.

Kaliyo, Lokin, Vector, and Thel went first, manifests in hand and sledded cargo crates dragging behind, following four Gamorrean guards through the hatch leading into the base.

The stifled sound of struggle came from the outer corridor, lights sputtered and winked out replaced by the dim glow of emergency lighting and the shrill wailing of alarms.

Before debarking, Nine grabbed Seven’s arm. “Whatever you witness of my crew, it must remain between us.”

“You have my word.”

“Lift is coming up,” Thel whispered through the comms.

“Kaliyo?” asked Nine.

“All set.”

The freight lift doors opened, and guards poured out in higher numbers than anticipated considering the small initial crew who met them when they landed. An explosion rocked the ground, smoke billowed from one side room drawing the enemy in that direction. One lobbed a frag grenade inside only to be answered by the report of a sniper rifle. Shuffling feet and the din of overturned crates came from another area. Personal body shields hummed to life as the enemy advanced, useless for hand to hand and the corridor too narrow for anything else. The skirmish might have lasted longer had the idiot commander not divided his troops, realizing too late his error.

Seven and Nine activated their cloaking devices, dealing death from unseen places. Inhuman snarls and the crunch of bones cut short otherworldly screams. Vector was a blur behind his twirling staff, and Thel’s inevitable “come get some” blurted loud and clear over the sound of clashing blades and blaster fire.

Bruised, cut, nicked and abraded, Seven and crew stepped over the fifteen or so bodies littering the floor. “Where’s Lokin?” Thel asked.

Vector grasped Thel’s wrist on the hand that held his blaster, holding it with the barrel pointed down. “He is coming. Do not fire.”

A pale abomination lumbered through a darkened doorway, blood caked in the deep wrinkles around its mouth and dripped from claws that curled from the ends of deformed fingers. Intelligent eyes scanned the group, and massive shoulders raised in an apologetic shrug.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Thel holstered his blaster. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t shake hands?”

The Rakghoul grunted and followed the gang to the turbolift. Skavak’s forwarded code didn’t work on the entrance panel which Thel sliced with little problem. The doors slid open. Once inside, Thel keyed in the code on the alphanumeric panel and held his breath. The down arrow turned green. Thel heaved a sigh and pressed the button once everyone was inside.

#

Nine’s ears popped on the long ride down to the moon’s interior. Vector daubed at the cut above her eye with a swatch of gauze he’d pulled from his utility belt. She stood still before his unwavering gaze, certain that he scanned her aura for other injuries.

“I’ve had worse, love.” She trailed her thumb across the bruise on his cheek.

“As have I.” He kissed her knuckles and assumed his place at her side.

They encountered little resistance when the lift stopped, and the doors opened. The vast area beyond was populated by mostly research technicians, engineers, and workmen with poor aim and too much fear to fight. Kaliyo and Thel herded them to form a line along one wall. On their knees and nervous, their eyes flicked toward the monster patrolling for stragglers or the hidden.  

“Ah, my saviors arrive at last.” A monotone voice, calm despite the uproar, came from a chair stationed in front of a massive console. “If you would be so kind.” He rattled his restraints.

Nine strolled over to the chair, turned it to access the bindings and met the cold, azure scrutiny of a man she’d hoped never to see again. She inwardly cringed under his studious gaze as she released the clamps that held him captive and stepped back as he rose to his feet.

“I think I’ve had quite enough of incarceration.” Watcher X rubbed at his chafed wrists.

“I have my orders.” An Anomid sprang from his seated position and depressed the button on a device he held before anyone could intervene.

“Oh,” uttered Watcher X as he slumped forward into Nine’s arms, bearing her to the ground under his weight.

Nine rolled him to his back and rose to her knees, cradling his head in her lap. His left eye bloodshot, the pupil dilated and milky, a bloody bubble inflated and burst from his nostril.

His chest expanded, he blinked. “A tiny bomb in the brain. Fitting I suppose.”

“Don’t try to talk.” Nine looked at Vector who shook his head.

“No time.” Watcher’s chest heaved again. “The other agent. Where?”

Nine motioned to Seven who sprinted over and dropped to her knees, leaning forward to hear.

“Something in my pocket. Take it and find your scoundrel, you will need him.”

Seven pulled a data crystal from his front pocket. “I will. I promise to finish this.”

“Go now. I wish to speak with Nine.”

The Watcher’s body shuddered with the struggle to draw yet another breath. “The console. Press enter, and in five minutes this all goes away.”

“What of the people?” Nine asked.

“They know too much and there are no innocents here. Let them all burn.” His breathing slowed, and he gasped. “I loved you, you know. From the start.”

Nine stroked his cheek and kissed his forehead. “I know. Sleep now. It’s time to rest.”

“It’s over, my love.” Vector extended his hand to help her up. “We need to be on our way.”

Nine closed Watcher’s eyes and lowered his head gently to the floor. Regardless if he loved her or not, he believed it, and that’s all that mattered. She would forever carry a piece of him with her. An inoperable chip embedded in her spine. She could live with that.

She let go of Vector’s hand and walked to the console, her finger hovering over the enter button. So much evil here, she could smell it. With a sigh of resignation, she lowered her hand.

“What about us? You can’t just leave us,” one of their captives bleated.

From that dead place inside that all spies visited when there was no place else to go, she answered. “You shouldn’t have killed him. Think on that in the short time you have left.”


	17. Blindsided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens, but doesn't it always?

All that effort and Watcher X had died anyway. Seven fidgeted with the data crystal she’d pulled from his pocket while he still breathed; while his flesh still held enough life to lend it warmth. They took his body with them, Lokin in his Rakghoul form had held the watcher like a child.

“A decent burial,” Nine had said as the ship escaped Skip 101. “Somewhere on Voss, I think, where nothing Imperial can ever touch him again.”

The shadow of futility dogged the crew long after the glow of an exploding moon declared in stunning brilliance the folly of best-made plans.    

Nine refused access to data ports, wanting no more knowledge to infect her ship or pique her interest in a mission she’d wanted to forego from the start. Nine’s part ended with the death of Watcher X, and Seven was once again on her own.

She palmed the crystal, chewing on her thumbnail, a habit she’d thought broken long ago. She dropped her hand and winced at the memory of instructors bruising her knuckles with wooden dowels as she labored over her studies or anxiously awaited her turn on the sparring mat. The academy didn’t allow nervous tics or personal tells like twirling her hair or gnawing at her nails. No identifying marks. Nothing to call her own. Her life became a blank sheet with someone else writing the motions of her days.

No word from Skavak or Keeper, both worrisome but for different reasons. Impatience skittered along her nerves, the tap-tap-tap of her boot toe against the table leg a poor conduit for pent up energies with no outlet.

What the hell did Watcher X mean when he said she needed _her_ scoundrel as though Skavak were an item she owned? What could she possibly need from a duplicitous, undisciplined, deceitful man like him?  Her traitorous heart answered, _“_ You _know.”_

Maybe, but it was a moot point now. Skavak was gone, and she’d done all she could in repayment for the risk he’d taken on her behalf. Thel had sent the warning, and it was out of her hands. Skavak was a survivor, and it was up to him to face his fate on his own terms. The man was no longer her concern. She put her thoughts of Skavak aside, but not away. It was the best she could do.  

She slumped in the chair, struggling to pull herself back into the reliable patterns she’d always counted on for stability and purpose. The data crystal winked in the light, a cheeky reminder of who she was and what she was duty bound to finish.

#

Nine dropped Seven and Thel on Tatooine with a handshake and no fanfare or promises of future assistance. Not that Seven expected much, but it would have been nice to have Nine and her crew along. All the Cipher had given her was the comm code for an answering service. Nine said she’d take it from there, and Seven left it at that.  

The cool interior of the Hedron greeted her and Thel with respite from the heat while the droid chattered on about cleaning and something about a fresh coat of paint. One day she’d have to give that damned hunk of metal a name. A real name, but not today when the spark was too low for inspiration to strike.

“Thel, take us a half parsec out and park it, then meet me in the conference room.” Seven trod off to her quarters to stash her gear and swung by the galley for a glass of something stronger than water.

She frowned and snagged the two-thirds empty bottle of rum from the front of the cabinet, dumped the contents in the sink and threw the bottle in the trash chute. Rum and mint, the smell of Skavak’s breath, the taste of his mouth. No more in-your-face reminders of what could have been and what could never be. And, if Thel or the droid made a mug of spacer’s caf, she’d shove them out the fucking airlock.

The only thing she hadn’t had the heart to throw away was the blue shirt. It lay in a bottom bin in the cargo bay secured shut with enough bolts and nails it’d take a blow torch and half a year to get to. That little tirade of temporary insanity came about when she couldn’t stand to touch it and couldn’t stand not to. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Yeah. 

Seven strolled into the conference room, sat in the chair, placed the whiskey tumbler on the console and scrubbed her hand down her face. “Alright, little crystal. Show me what you’ve got.”

Great. Password protected. What had Watcher X said to her? She tried Skavak, scoundrel, and even all three sentences of the whole kriffing statement. Nothing, until she tried each word separately. It unlocked on the word ‘need.’ Go figure.

“What’ve we got here?” Thel took the seat beside her.

“Part of a star map, but I don’t recognize those coordinates, and I can’t zoom out to get a full image.”

Thel split the screen and brought up the ship’s navicomputer charts to compare side by side. “Shit. This is on the other side of the rim, out past wild space. I can’t even get a lock on a jump beacon ‘cause this ain’t been mapped yet.”

“Well, somebody did.”

“True. But I don’t even have a trail to follow to the last jump point before this. Finding a single grain of sand in a sandstorm would be easier and less lethal. What else is on that thing?”

Seven shifted view to a different facet of the crystal. “Names, but more than Nine gave me. Look, Tynon Burnn, long lost progeny of Haldis I’d bet. And his wife, Lorika Sten-Burnn.”

Thel rubbed his chin. “Sten. Isn’t that the name of the guy you offed on Semona?”     

“Uh-huh. Guess his kids weren’t dead after all. Kamarr Sten must be the brother. Seems the Empire has not been kind to either family. This is more than seeking wealth and power. This is revenge.”

Thel pointed to the screen. “Twelve more names and look who’s near the top.”

“Revas Cole of Cole Industries.” Seven took a drink to calm the involuntary shudder that ran down her spine. “Sick fuck. One down, fourteen to go.”

“But we still need to get to Burnn, and right now, we have no idea where to start looking.”

Seven stared at the list of names trying to figure out why the hell some were different. Her eyebrows rose. “Thel, why would the L, the N, and E be capitalized? And what’s that odd little circle?”

“Sonofabitch.” Thel shoved his chair back and sprinted out of the room. On his return, he slid a datachip into an open port. “This is the chip you took off Omar Sten. Notice the fourth line down?”

“Yeah. And?”

“I thought it was some weird banking account codes. Delete the extra spaces and extraneous shit, and you’ve got longitude and latitude. 28.53823°N, -81.37739°E. I reckon we’ll be heading to New Cerna next?”     

“Seems that way. I’ve only got the one key, but whatever we find there might put us ahead of the game for once.”

Thel shot her a shit-eating grin. “Don’t jinx us, girl. We haven’t figured out the star map yet.”

“One thing at a time. Maybe there’s something in the archives at headquarters.”

“You gonna call the Old Man?”

Seven stared at the screen, trying to stave off the disquiet of an answer to a question she was afraid to ask. “Yes, but I’m not ready for that conversation today.”

Thel made the jump to New Cerna, and by the afternoon of the following day, Seven still wasn’t ready for that conversation but keyed in the frequency anyway. Holo call this time. Keeper’s resting bitch face wasn’t all that unreadable if you paid attention. Sometimes the stress cracks showed.

“I expected to hear from you sooner.” The lines between his brows barely deepened. _Only slightly annoyed. Good to know._

“You find your wayward child yet?”

“Not yet.” A slight tic pulled at the corner of his mouth. _Stars, he hated to fail._

“Nine was a great help, but can offer nothing more,” Seven started her report. “Watcher X is dead, but he did give me a data crystal with some coordinates and names before he died. The coordinates are outside known space. I’ll forward them to you, maybe there’ll be something in the archives that can assist. If not, I’ll have to look elsewhere.”

“And the names?” Keeper quirked one eyebrow showing interest, but he wouldn’t push.

“I’d rather keep those to myself for now. If someone made a move, it might tip our hand, and we don’t want that just yet.”

Keeper accepted that with a nod. “Where are you headed next?”

“New Cerna. That datachip from Omar Sten contained a specific geographic location. I’m surprised your fixer missed it.”

Always suspicious, Keeper’s eyes narrowed. “On purpose?”

Seven shrugged. “That’s for you to find out. I’m a little busy at the moment.”

_Must have hit a nerve with that one._ Keeper tugged on his jacket and cleared his throat. “Anything else?”

The question lurked on the edge of a deep inhale. Seven exhaled the words and the air in one breath. “Did you send someone after Skavak?”

Keeper’s brows lifted in surprise before he caught himself. “No.”

Seven hid the relief that washed over her. “Why not?”

He cocked his eyebrow again. “I have my reasons.”

It took a moment, but Seven finally understood. Anger and a deep sense of disappointment settled in her gut. “You sly bastard. He was never any threat to the mission and, you damn well knew it. I left him behind, the sanction was overkill. Or maybe it was just some twisted way to test the length of my leash. Have you so little faith in me you’d now use his life as a bargaining chip? A guarantee I’ll finish the job?”

An unexpected softness settled around his eyes. “I’ve always had faith in your abilities, Seven. It’s your heart that’s in question. You disobeyed a direct order. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t use the outcome to the Empire’s best advantage?”

She never knew betrayal had a flavor, but there it was; a bitter alchemy that hung from the roof of her mouth and threatened to choke her. “I see. Is Skavak in custody?”

Keeper’s face went as blank as stone. “Not yet, but he has been tagged. Stay in touch. We’ll speak of this again at a more opportune time. Keeper out.”

“Hypocritical prick.” Thel slammed his hand against the doorframe where he’d stood listening. “He’s got a wife. I wonder if he’d so readily pull the trigger on her?”

“At least I know exactly where I stand.”

Thel strode into the room and laid a hand on her arm. “It’s what he didn’t say that worries me.”

Tired. Stars, she’d never been so tired. “Retirement? A distinct possibility, but he has no one else to trust with this. Right now, I have his balls in my hand, and he has Skavak’s in his. That’s one hell of a standoff.”

“I still don’t like your scoundrel, but he did take a risk he didn’t have to. I’m with you no matter what.”

Seven placed her hand over his. “I know, old friend. Drop us out of hyperspace and set course for Nar Shaddaa.”

Thel raised his brows. “You sure?”

“Watcher said I’d need him and he hasn’t steered us wrong yet. I’m gonna go get my boy, and Keeper can go fuck himself.”

#

Skavak turned down another alley, hat pulled low and, kerchief pulled high across his nose. Wearing layers was a bitch and too fucking hot. He stripped off the white shirt revealing the dark blue tee he wore underneath and tossed the white into the first trash bin he passed. The black kerchief peeled off, a triangle of red now covered his face. The black went the same way as the white.

He ducked into the kitchen entrance to his left and wound between the stoves and startled cooks. Steam rose like fog from boiling pots, the oily floor slick beneath his boots. His nostrils flared at the smell of spices and searing meat. He made his way to the exit into the restaurant, found the shadows and waited. The owner, an old friend of Noonum’s, had helped Skavak before. Different times, same drill.

Skavak eyed the front entrance and the foot traffic parading past the hazy front windows. One figure slowed, knelt down pretending to adjust a buckle or shine his fucking boots for all Skavak knew. Spacers garb, tan chinos, brown vest, white shirt, and wrist held too close to his face. Talking to his buddies no doubt or reporting in. The man rose and turned toward the entrance, no spacer’s swagger when he walked. Controlled, efficient strides, coiled, primed, alert, military maybe, but most likely intelligence. Persistent bastard, he opened the door and stepped inside pausing to survey the tables of diners who’d stopped eating to gaze at the newcomer. The clink of knives and forks resumed, the man shifted to the side as two customers cashed out and left.     

The door to the side dining area slid open, a boisterous crowd full of loud belches and too much drink filed out, drawing the man’s attention, eyes scanning the group. A waiter exchanged Skavak’s hat for a walking cane, and when the man turned away, Skavak sidled from his hiding place into the group. Pulling his hair around his face, and pushing the kerchief down around his neck, he tucked in behind the biggest lout in the gang. He limped out the front door lost in the mix of bodies too drunk to care who the hell he was.

He clung to his sentient life raft for a while, then peeled off and hobbled down a side street, the cane tip tapping on the duracrete surface. He’d lost the tail for a bit, but they’d be back and what he couldn’t figure out was why they’d made no move to take him. Surveillance only, but for how long?

Skavak knew the underbelly of Nar Shaddaa like the back of his hand. He’d roamed it as a kid, skinny, dirty, running and hungry, always hungry. He found the street of rowhouses he was looking for, slipped down an alley to a backdoor and knocked.

A shutter slid aside, an eye appeared, the door unlocked and opened. He stepped inside to be greeted by a short, plump woman with a blaster in her hand, and mirth in her chocolate brown eyes.

He leaned over to kiss the flushed red apple of her cheek. “Hi, Noni. You’re as beautiful as ever.”

“Flattery with get you nowhere, you villainous scamp.” She gave him an affectionate slap. “Come on in and take a seat, supper’s almost ready.”

The tromp of heavy boots and a gravelly voice came from the doorway to the kitchen. “Hands off my woman, you lecherous S.O.B.” The frown lines smoothed and his mouth stretched into a wide grin as Noonum strode in and clapped his meaty hand on Skavak’s shoulder. “You heard what she said. Best sit before she shows you how deadly she is with a serving spoon.”

Skavak sat as Noni scurried around placing a bowl of hearty stew, flatware and a glass of wine before him. For the first time in days, he relaxed. A touch of home, denied to him in his youth and so far past reality now it wasn’t even a dream. He slathered butter on a piece of still warm bread sliced from the loaf on the cutting board, raised his spoon and dug in.

No one spoke until their bowls were empty, including Noonum’s second helping. The big man leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh and slapped his rounded belly. “Delicious as always, Sweeting. Need help with the cleanup?”

Noni was already gathering the dishes. “You guys go ahead and talk. I’ve got this.”

Noonum propped his elbows on the table and rolled his eyes in Skavak’s direction. “Thought you’d be gone by now, Tam. What the hell you still doing here?”

“Been asking myself the same damned thing. Picked up a tail a few days ago. I keep losing them, they keep finding me.”

“Any idea who?”

“Imperials, I think, at least they move like it. You know the type, all wispy smoke except that stick up their ass.”

Noonum chuckled. “Young agents then.”

“Seems like it, which means they’re just here to keep tabs.”

“What about that fancy new ship of yours?”

Skavak reached for the bottle and one of the glasses Noni set on the table. He downed a two-finger shot in one gulp before pouring another. “Blew a circuit board on the preflight.”

“Damned convenient.” Noonum cocked an eyebrow over the rim of his glass.

“Ya think? Dealer’s still looking for a replacement. Haven’t heard from him in a couple days and he’s not picking up his comms. Might be dead for all I know.” Skavak locked eyes with the big man. “There’s something else out there. I can feel it.”

“That new player you couldn’t tell me about? What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

“I wish I knew.” But he did know, and it had Seven written all over it. He wished he’d never answered that last damned call from Ferrous. Wished he’d never sent that message. Twice in his life, he’d done the right thing, and both times it’d come back to bite him in the ass. It had broken him to leave Ky, but it was the right thing. He’d put himself in the crosshairs for Seven, a woman he barely knew, but it was the right thing. Yeah, and look where that had gotten him.

“So, what do you need?” Noni sat down, still wiping her hands on a dishtowel.       

“I need to go to ground for a while. You know anyplace like that?”

“What about the subfloors?” offered Noni.

“Huh,” Skavak grunted. “And come out smelling of sewage and rat shit? No thanks.”

“I could try and hide you in the Bent Shaft for a while,” said Noonum.

“I shouldn’t even be here now. I don’t want to bring trouble to your door. I don’t have any friends to spare. Thanks, but no.”

“What about Creech? He might know of a place.”

“You know I burned Creech on that spice deal. Dodged his hunters for years. I doubt he’s forgotten.”

“You burned a lot of people, Tam. Makes running hard, and hiding even harder.”

“Not crying about it and I’d probably do it again. Some people just aren’t built for learning lessons, I guess.” Skavak downed the drink and stood. “I’d better go, been here too long as it is.”

Noni got up and reached out for a hug. “You know the way out.”

“I do. Thanks for the meal and the company.”

“Sorry we couldn’t do more.” Noonum pulled him in for a bro hug.

Skavak glanced around the small neat kitchen. “You gave me a place to rest for a bit. It’s enough.”

Skavak took the stairs two at a time, up through the attic and the skylight and onto the roof which ran the length of the housing complex. He’d stowed most of what he owned on his ship and picked up odds and ends in second-hand shops that had sprung up in every market row on every level he’d passed through.

He knew Nar Shaddaa, and maybe, just maybe, he could stow away in one of the hidey-holes he’d used as a kid, if they were still there and unoccupied. Street rats might share space for a few credits if they didn’t try to kill him in his sleep. It’s what he would have done when he was a kid. Hard times, hard ways.

Skavak sprinted across the rooftops and down the rickety fire escape at the end and stopped at the bottom to listen. Nothing he could hear, but the hairs on his neck told him different. He hugged the shadows along building fronts, snuck by random groups of people wandering by and wended his way towards a set of stairs leading down.

He’d just stepped off the bottom when a Trandoshan rounded a pillar, grabbed his arm and slapped the back of his hand. He aimed a roundhouse punch to the Trandoshan’s face and missed by a mile. He thought the thing laughed but wasn’t sure over the humming in his ears. He stumbled forward, the pavement tilting at a nauseating angle while pain shot from his knees to his hips as he went down. 

Rolled to his back, dark hair and a scarred jaw wavered into view, cruel eyes peered into his. Gentle fingers caressed his cheek, and a deep voice said, “Hello, pretty, pretty. I’ve been looking for you.”

Skavak understood the true meaning of that old saying about making your skin crawl as everything dimmed and went away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Latitude/longitude is for Orlando, Florida, home of Disneyworld, and why not? Disney does own the license for all things Star Wars.


	18. A Question of Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally some action and shit gets real. 
> 
> Trigger warning: Details of torture. Not the act, but the physical evidence.

Lorika Sten-Burnn startled as the door to her bedroom banged open and just as aggressively slammed shut. Heavy footfall came her way, each footstep punctuated by a stream of expletives. She placed her hairbrush on her nightstand and caught the reflection of her husband standing in the doorway of her dressing room. A dark scowl marred his usually serene face.

“What is it, Tynon?” She rose from her seat, the dressing gown open and trailing a froth of seafoam green behind.

Tynon Burnn raked his eyes down his wife’s body and closed them as she lay a steadying hand on his cheek. “It’s gone,” he forced through clenched teeth.”

“What’s gone?” She kept her voice soft and placating.

He grabbed her wrist in a bone-crushing grip. “Don’t use that tone as if trying to mollify an errant child.”

“You’re hurting me.” She tried in vain to pull away. “Just calm yourself and tell me what’s going on.”

His eyes flared, and he flung her arm aside. “The research center in Smuggler’s Run has been destroyed.”  

“I see.” Lorika rubbed at her wrist. “The data is secure?”

“Of course, it’s secure. We have redundancies in place to prevent loss in the event of a breach. It’s the damnable waste I can’t abide.”

She fixed him with the accusatory glare she knew he hated. “It was that Imperial you kept as a pet who caused this. I told you to get rid of him as soon as he finished duplicating the missing schematic.”

“And I told _you._ ” He punched a finger into her chest with enough force to bruise. “I couldn’t get rid of him until we were sure his work was correct. It will be another month before the disrupter can be brought online and with him gone—”

“The construction is nearly complete.” She flipped her hand dismissively. “Surely any discrepancies can be corrected by all those overpaid, brilliant minds you employ. Besides, I have some good news.”

“What news?”

A sly smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Kamarr has captured the spy’s darling. She will come for him, and we’ll soon have the other key.”

“Perhaps, but just because he feels good between her thighs doesn’t mean she’ll exchange the key for him or come to his rescue.”

“Kamarr has great instincts and is never wrong about such things. Human nature is skin deep, and he’s very adept at peeling back the layers to get to the heart of what others easily miss.”

Tynon wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and squeezed. “Tell me, love, would you rescue me?”

“That depends on the stakes.” She pushed the right button with a surety gleaned from years of studying her husband’s strengths and weaknesses. His insecurity in her devotion being the most effective of all for maneuvering him exactly where she needed him to be.

“Would you rescue that bastard, Kamarr?” Already in a foul temper, he caved once again to the rumors about her and her brother and slung her across the room toward the bed.    

She tripped and caught herself, swishing her tongue across her lips and letting the dressing gown fall to the floor. Tynon stalked across the room. It was a game they played, both knowing full well who was really in control. This might prove to be an exquisite evening after all.

#

Skavak awoke, his head throbbing as though it had been in a vice and his brains squeezed out through his ears. He blinked his eyes open adjusting to the dim lighting while tactile responses slowly returned to his body. He lay face down on a bed or cot, the fabric rough against his skin. One leg hung over the side, his foot tingling as he shifted his hips and circulation returned. The back of his right hand itched like crazy, and the memory came rushing in; the Trandoshan, the skin tab, the man with the creepy voice, passing out.

_Shit._ His muscles groaned as he struggled to sit, arms trembling and vision swimming at the change in position from prone to upright. He swiped a dry tongue over parched lips and scanned the room for any sign of something to drink. Other than the bed, there was nothing but four stark walls and a door.

Wherever they’d taken him, he was still planetside, no vibrations under his bare feet or engine hum to indicate travel. He’d been stripped of everything but his underwear. “Hello, pretty, pretty,” the man had said, and Skavak cringed again at the memory of his touch. He did a mental check for any odd feelings...down there. A sigh of relief escaped his lungs as he idly scratched his hand. Unconscious or not, being Scarface’s butt buddy was nowhere on his to-do list.

He pushed his hair from his forehead and settled in to wait and think. He cursed himself again for delaying his departure and sending that fucking transmission, not that it would have mattered. His disabled ship was evidently sabotaged to keep him on Nar Shaddaa, and he double cursed himself for not heeding Ferrous’ advice to hide. They were laying a trap for Seven, using him as bait to get her half of the lover’s key. _Fools._

They overestimated his importance to her. She’d never jeopardize her mission for him. Hell, she’d proven that when she left him behind to fend for himself. The spy would go on about her business without giving him a second thought.

No way to measure the passage of time, he paced the room or lay on his back in the damp residue of his own sweat. Twice he was brought water, but no food. He relieved himself in a back corner and observed the stream of yellow liquid trickle across the floor and under the thin seam at the bottom of the door. The stench of his own piss permeated the air, and the poor circulation from the single small vent offered no relief.

When the door swung wide, Skavak squinted at the figure silhouetted in the bright backdrop. “Hello again, my pretty. My, my, such poor treatment. We simply must clean you up for the next phase.”

The man stepped back and barked his orders. “He stinks. Hose him down and bring him.”

A Trandoshan and a Devaronian tromped into the room and snatched him up by his arms. Weak and overpowered, they laughed at his meager struggles and ignored his questions. They dumped him into another cell with nozzles embedded in the walls and a drain in the center of the floor. Water burst from the nozzles with punishing force as he fought to remain on his feet and cover his privates with his hands to ward off a pain that would drive him to his knees.

The streams of pounding water finally stopped leaving him hunched and shivering amid the sound of dripping and water gurgling down the drain. Without the benefit of a towel to dry himself, the same two hauled him out of the room, down a corridor and into a central chamber. There they shackled him to a frame in the shape of a giant X, first his wrists, then his ankles. His groin and thigh muscles spasmed as his legs were stretched wide apart, his weight dangled from his wrists, and the pull on his diaphragm made each breath a struggle.

“Put the platforms under his feet, you morons. I can’t have him suffocating. Where’s the fun in that?”

Skavak turned his head toward the voice, his wet hair dripping down his face and into his eyes. Scarface strode forward to halt way too close for comfort, his gaze strafing Skavak from head to toe. “You do clean up nice,” he said. “But where are my manners? My name is Kamarr, and I’ll be your host for the next few days.”

Skavak surveyed his surroundings, or as much as he could see considering his limited point of view. He seemed to be in a warehouse given the layout, likely in an abandoned part of Nar Shaddaa as evidenced by the absence of exterior noise. Any light appeared to be centered around his position, and some sort of communication or recording device sat not far in front of him. A table spread with various instruments including knives, syringes, clamps, pliers, and whatnot sat off to the side. His heart took a nosedive into his gut.

He always knew his number would come up one of these days, he just never figured he’d go out like this. Seems Karma had come to call, and she was a stone-cold bitch.

Able to rest some of his weight on his feet, Skavak breathed easier and found his voice. “I’d say nice to meet you, but it’s really not. Why am I here?”

“Don’t play coy. It doesn’t suit you.” Kamarr reached and traced his fingers down Skavak’s face, over his lips and chin and down his body to tuck just inside his waistband.

Skavak’s skin squirmed, and he felt his balls shrivel even more than they had from the cold. He gritted his teeth. “She won’t come for me. You may as well kill me now.”

Kamarr snapped the elastic, a smirk pulling at the scars on his face. “You’re wrong, my friend. She’s quite besotted with you as I’ve noted by studying footage received from my field agents. I’m surprised you didn’t notice considering your reputation. She’ll come for you; I guarantee it.”

Kamarr leaned forward and slid his tongue over Skavak’s nipple, and snickered as Skavak tried to pull away.

Kamarr’s voice was like glass in an open wound. “Oh, I could have had you already, make no mistake, and I would have enjoyed you immensely. But I prefer it when they put up a fight.” He turned and plucked a curved blade from the table. “However, unseen damage lacks a certain impact. Your agent requires motivation written in blood and punctuated by screams. I rather doubt you’ll appreciate my creativity, but the message will be clear. Where does any good letter begin? Ah, yes, the greeting...and then the body.”

#

Seven cursed and slung the hydrospanner across the floor. She’d done all she could do to tweak the flow through the charge planes to increase speed. The regulator was already past peak efficiency, and any more stress and the _Hedron_ would rip itself apart.  

Two and a half more days to Nar Shaddaa, and she didn’t trust Keeper to honor his word not to detain or even kill Skavak. He’d burned that trust the last time they spoke, and she’d been a damned fool to ignore the first rule of the spy; trust no one.

“Seven?” Thel yelled from somewhere up front.

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna wanna see this. I’m in the conference room.”

Seven stood, wiped her hands on a rag and strode with a purpose measured by the urgent tone of Thel’s voice.

She halted in front of the monitor and rooted herself in that rock-hard foundation where emotions never tread. In front of her, a live feed played out her worse nightmare. Skavak hung from an X frame, stretched out like a bantha skin on a drying rack. His head bowed to his chest, hair hanging over his face and body marked by more cuts, bruises and burn marks than she could count. Long metal slivers stuck out from under his finger and toenails, each pectoral was skewered, the blood long since turned to black. Some injuries still oozed streaking his body with lymph and gore.

Her beautiful scoundrel reduced to this. She almost whispered his name. She swallowed the gorge rising in her throat, suppressed the gasp that nearly escaped and stifled the tears that threatened to fall. Even at her worst, she’d never done anything so horrendous. This was the work of a sadist, someone who enjoyed inflicting pain.

Seven opened that place in herself that terrified her and let it suck her down into the emptiness where nothing dwelled but rage. Her vision ran red with it, her heart beat in time with it, burning and clawing to get past the blank exterior of vengeance and death she wore like a second skin.

If her voice were any hollower, she couldn’t have spoken at all. “I’ve received your message, though the name escapes me.”

A face blocked her view of Skavak. Dark hair, eyes without a soul, scars crosshatched along his jaw, his mouth slanted in a cruel line. “Kamarr will do, and we understand each other?”

“I understand perfectly. I assume you’re still on Nar Shaddaa?”

“Eighteen levels below the old power station. A rather dismal place but suitable for my purposes. When will you arrive?”

“Three days.”

“I’ll send someone to escort you.”

“You’ll send no one if you expect them to live.”

Kamarr’s brows furrowed as if invisible strings pulled them together. The camera angle widened as he strolled to stand by Skavak then zoomed in when he grabbed Skavak’s hair and yanked his head back.  

Skavak’s eyes were swollen shut, his nose broken, his cheeks dark with bruises, a cluster of blisters rimmed his mouth, and blood-flecked drool slid over his chin. Kamarr leaned in and kissed Skavak’s lips before letting his head fall back to his chest.

Kamarr dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Don’t forget what I have, Cipher.”

Seven let the faint whisper of a smile cross her face. “And don’t forget what I am, Kamarr.”

“Hardly. Come alone and unarmed or he dies.”

“If he dies, you lose your leverage. Funny how that works, isn’t it? He’s in bad shape, you might want to ease up for a day or so. I’ll want proof of life, of course.”

“Of course. Just bring the key, and he’s all yours. My comms frequency is embedded in this stream, I’ll expect a check in before we meet. Say at 8 pm., local time?”

“Make sure he’s well enough to speak. Nothing personal but your word’s not good enough.”

“In three days then, Seven.”

The screen went dark, and Seven couldn’t move, the image of Skavak’s torture ran through her mind in a continuous loop. She felt the cracks in her resolve and knew if she gave in to the emotions pounding on her heart, she’d never stop crying.

She needed to stay in the cold rage, the only place she could function, the only hope she had to bring Skavak back alive. She turned to Thel. “Put on your workout clothes and meet me in the cargo bay. I’ve gone soft of late, and soft won’t get this done. Make it like the old days, and don’t go easy on me.”

For two days Seven ate, slept, and sparred, as though she didn’t have a storm rampaging inside. Everything tamped down to a finite point of detonation waiting for the right moment to set it off. She existed on routine because living would be too much to bear.

A half day out, she joined Thel in the cockpit. “We won’t be docking at Mezenti. Kamarr is a liar, and he’ll be looking for us there. You remember that old smuggler’s pad not far from the refugee sector?”

“Yeah, but it’s been a long time, and it was rickety as shit back then. It may not even hold the weight of the ship.”

“Have some faith, it’ll hold,” said Seven with more confidence than she felt. “It’s close to the old power grid, and I’ll have time to scout around and see what Kamarr has waiting for me.”

“Traps for damned sure.”

“Exactly, but it’s harder to catch prey who’s aware of the traps, yes?”

“You’re taking one hell of a risk for a man you’ve only slept with a few times.”

“Can’t think about that now.”

“I know. You stay in the zone, girl. You’re safer there.”

#

Half an hour after they landed on the old docking pad that swayed, creaked, and groaned in protest, Seven was making her way through the levels below the old power station to an abandoned warehouse district. She’d turned up her aural implants to detect movement and heard nothing but the skittering of pests and the occasional moan from some derelict too far gone on spice or booze to care where he crashed.

She took to the rooftops when the buildings sat close enough together to leap the spaces between and dropped to her stomach to survey the warehouse that echoed with deliberate footsteps. She adjusted her implant again and picked up nine individual heartbeats, eight steady, one weak and accelerated. A slap boomed in her ear, and she tweaked the implant again. Someone snarled, “Wake up, lover. I have need of your voice,” followed by another slap. She barely caught the mumbled reply, “Fuck you.”

_That’s my boy._

She raised the macro binoculars and scanned the building front noting security cameras and not much else except that the double cargo door wasn’t reinforced and wide enough for what she needed. A side entrance sat to the left. She switched to infrared to find one image on the roof, likely a sniper to take the shot should she run. A smile bloomed internally. Seven didn’t run, ever.

She returned to the ship and donned her work clothes, a cortosis lined body suit, utility belt with body shield and cloaking device, one blaster and one vibroknife. A garotte threaded through the collar, and various throwing knives lay tucked into discrete pockets along the sides. A bracer with four loaded tranq darts covered her wrist. Though she seldom used it, she added a cowl, one that could be raised to enclose her entire head. She’d need the protection of the cortosis for her implants for what she had planned.

At 8 pm., on the dot, she contacted Kamarr on her hand-held.

“I do appreciate punctuality,” he said. “Though you didn’t land at Mezenti as I expected.”

“And I told you, no escort.”

“They were merely there to observe.”

“Don’t split hairs, Kamarr. Seen or not, it was still an escort. You lied.” She flattened her tone. “Proof of life...now.”

“So tiresome, but very well.” His voice receded. “Say something to the nice lady, sweetheart.”

She strained to hear Skavak’s words. “Don’t do this, Seven. I’m not worth it.”

The thud of a fist on bare flesh followed by a groan preceded Kamarr’s next statement. “Self-deprecating and heartfelt, surprising considering the source. He continues to provide endless entertainment. When can we expect you?”

“Thirty-five minutes and he needs to be alive when I get there.”

“Thirty-five it is. Don’t be late.”

Seven strolled to the exit hatch. “You have your instructions, Thel. Don’t deviate.”

If she didn’t know herself better, she’d almost swear there was a spring in her step. Of course, he was worth it. He was worth everything. Kamarr would expect her to walk through the entrance or sneak into some side window to be caught in one of his traps. What he wouldn’t expect was a juggernaut.

She stopped the Korrealis speeder just as the warehouse came into view. Hand on the throttle, foot on the brake, she waited until the vehicle shuddered and the engine screamed before releasing the brake. The speeder shot forward, her thumb depressing the trigger for the front blasters to weaken the metal doors.

The front of the Korrealis crumpled as it broke through the barrier. Seven veered the speeder to the left and detonated the EMP device attached to the undercarriage. As the speeder dropped and started to skid, she engaged her stealth field, crouched on the seat, blew the canopy, and activated the eject button. She flew upward, carried by the momentum and sprang into a somersault to land by Skavak.

“Hi, honey. I’m home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on a personal project which is proving to be time-consuming. Chapters may be a bit haphazard, but I will finish the story. Skavak would never forgive me if I didn't.


	19. Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven's in her element.

Unconscious again, but Skavak lived, his chest rising as she pressed a body shield backed with Dermabond to his skin. A wave of relief washed over her as she activated the shield and pivoted away. She skimmed the hot, claustrophobic cowl from her head and tucked it under her collar as she crouched in the shadow of the X frame where Skavak hung.

Seven danced sideways as pullies whirred overhead, and the zing of a rope marked the release of a capture net that dropped from the ceiling. It caught on the tops of the frame and sparked against Skavak’s body shield, but any current it might have carried had been disabled by the EMP pulse. Hydraulics and pullies might work, but anything electrical or magnetic had been knocked cold.

The perimeter of the warehouse interior had gone dark as a cave. Bleak light leaking in through the wrecked entrance transformed the remainder into sooty patches of gray. Not even emergency lighting functioned. For the umpteenth time, she cursed herself for not having an optical implant installed. Just the thought of someone mucking about with her eyes and hardwiring it to her brain was a step too far, even for her. She tweaked her aural implant again, having hunted by sound and smell before.

Nine heartbeats, one on the roof, one belonging to Skavak, left seven combatants, including Kamarr. Steep odds, but she’d faced worse. Take out two, maybe three and the rest would hesitate, hired guns always did when their numbers were reduced. Kamarr would be the problem, and she had to get to him before he disappeared or went for Skavak. No whisper of cloth, no squeak of leather, no crunch of dirt under a boot, only the steady thump of his psychopathic heart from somewhere on the far side of the warehouse.  

Booted feet shuffled along the second floor, heading toward the stairwell. A door opened somewhere in the back of the building, followed by the muffled scratch of boots and the soft tread of bare feet, with the slight clack of claws on the floor. Bloody hell, a Trandoshan. With his natural infrared, he’d need to be taken out first.   

Seven moved like silence itself, keeping Skavak in view and skirting the support pillars. A whiff of cigarra smoke, stale and mixed with sweat, came from somewhere up ahead. Her implant honed in on the scrape of a boot heel, the click of a claw. She pulled the garrote from her collar and rode the shadows.

Two heartbeats, one soft and human, the other heavy like the thud of a fist, and there, the glint of an eye, the pale glimpse of a shirt sleeve. Seven shot a dart and scrambled forward, coming up behind the Trandoshan as he turned at the sound of a gurgled gasp. She sprung, wrapped the garotte twice around the Trandoshan’s neck, pulled it tight and secured the handles in the back strap of the bandolero he wore. His own struggles would seal his fate. The lizard stubbled into the scant light, clawing at his throat, reaching behind. Nothing gave except the widening gash in his neck and the blood flowing down his chest.

“What the...” Followed by a brusque, “shut it” came from the stairwell. Seven crept onward toward the one heartbeat, the only heartbeat that counted, except Skavak’s. Knife in hand, she hugged the dark and froze when a blaster bolt flew from the space behind her to splash against the body shield protecting Skavak. Another, then another, his shield would never hold, and her stealth generator would fail soon from power drain.

She backtracked, following the smell of spent tibanna gas and the trajectory origination of the bolts. As she got close, three men stood silhouetted against the twilight gloom on the edge of the weak light trickling through the hole of the damaged cargo door. Her stealth generator sputtered, concealed her again as she severed the knee tendons of one. He fell with a yelp and a curse cut short as her blade slid along his windpipe. She ducked a meaty fist and swerved just as the generator died but not in time to avoid a kidney punch that stole her breath. She rolled into the pain, ignored the fire that scored along her ribs on the edge of a knife. Flat on her back, she kicked out at the inner thigh of the man then shot a tranq dart between his legs. He howled and went down. The other hesitated then took the shot.

Seven leaned into it, letting the cortosis absorb the bolt as she winced at the resultant heat build-up along her stomach. She went to one knee, luring him forward, and caught movement from the corner of her eye. Kamarr had come out of hiding, advancing on Skavak, firing repeatedly. Acting on reflex, she pulled a throwing blade from a pocket sheath on her calf and threw it sideways at Kamarr as she lunged upward at her assailant. Her knife slid into the soft flesh under his jaw.

He dropped to the floor as she whirled around to face the last attacker. The whites of eyes bloomed wide in a youthful face; she could almost hear his bones rattle with fear. She advanced; the creamy shoulder of his shirt shrugged as he aimed his blaster. His hesitation saved his life as a tranq dart flew from her bracer. He crumpled, and Seven hoped he’d rethink the purpose of a life not yet lived.      

She turned to see Kamarr wiping blood from his cheek as he receded back into the dark. Seven drove the tip of her knife into the meaty part of her shoulder, unzipped the left forearm of her bodysuit, and shoved the material up to her elbow. Blood trickled down her skin and dripped from her hand. A predator always goes for the weak spot, so she gave him one. Seven pressed the implant button behind her left ear and stepped around the support bean into the scant light.

Her voice echoed through the rafters. “You should have ordered them to kill me.”                 

“Seems I underestimated you,” Kamarr’s words slid out of the dark.

“I get that a lot.” Seven tapped the edge of her knife against her thigh. “You gonna grow a set and come out, or do I have to come find you?”

“Looks like I’ve found you, agent,” a rich baritone purred from behind her like a well-tuned engine. “Drop the knife. No sudden moves. I doubt I’d miss from this range, and brain spatter is so messy.”

She opened her fingers and let the knife drop, the tip hitting the floor before keeling over with a metallic clatter.

“Now the blaster. Two fingers. Don’t get fancy,” ordered the man at her back. “Do as the lady asked, Boez, and come on out,” he added almost as an afterthought.

A man strode from the darkness on the far side of the warehouse as she gingerly lifted the blaster from its holster with thumb and forefinger. She released it to its resting place beside her knife.  

_Emperor’s bouncing balls!_ The face emerging into the light was damn near a perfect doppelganger of Kamarr, down to the crosshatch of scars on the jaw, and the clothes he wore. Heavier cheekbones and a slight dent in the chin were the only noticeable differences as he came closer.

“Turn around, agent. Hands away from your body.”

She turned as mystery man stepped from behind a support pillar. Kamarr in all his sadistic glory. A sniper rifle butted against his shoulder; the long muzzle pointed at her head. The sniper on the roof had changed location during her scuffles with his men, and she’d been too focused on the Kamarr who wasn’t, to notice the Kamarr who was.

Seven’s insides squirmed as boot leather rubbed to a halt on the floor behind her. She heard Boez breathe, the rasp of skin against cloth, the clink of metal hitting metal.

“Be a good girl and put your hands behind your back,” Kamarr spoke as if to a child.

The bastard wouldn’t kill her, but he’d bring the pain, and she wasn’t ready. Not yet. She eased her right hand behind her waist but winced as if the left wasn’t in a cooperative mood.

“Wait,” Kamarr barked. “What’s in your hand, Seven?” His eyes narrowed as if he’d just noticed she’d kept her left hand closed in a tight fist.

“Ask one of your boys. Shoulder wound, nerve damage. Fingers don’t want to work.”

“Check it out, Boez. And if she won’t open that hand, stick a knife through it.”

Seven inched her arm forward, trying to keep her hand out of Boez’ reach. She grunted as he gripped her injured shoulder and squeezed. She dropped her arm to her side, and he grabbed her wrist. Seven winced as the needle inside her arm pulled away from the grafted bone and punched through her skin. A slight pressure as the tiny bladder embedded in her muscle pumped its contents into Boez. The barbed end lodged the needle in his flesh, removing it from hers. He jerked his hand away as a yelp died in his throat. Good old ‘Boner Surprise.’ She loved Lokin a little more at that moment.

Seven became instinct, submerging into the calm white noise of survival. She kept the rage at a distance where it swirled in a dragon’s breath of hate, bottled up and waiting until she needed the dragon’s roar.

Seven mimicked Boez’ movement as he slumped to the ground, becoming one with the shape of the dying man. She used Kamarr’s confusion in the split second before his mind could sort and separate the two forms moving in concert. She reached for her knife and blaster as she fell.

A bolt struck just as her fingers wrapped around the hilt, showering her with razor-edged shards of duracrete and skittering her blaster out of reach. She fired her last tranq dart as she rolled toward the shadows knowing she wouldn’t hit Kamarr but needing the distraction. The gloaming swallowed her as she crouched and waited, adjusting her aural implant. She swiped a dribble of blood from her forehead. Her face peppered with duracrete splinters flared into pinpricks of fire.

“I’ll bleed him, Seven. Where’s the key?”

“You’ll try.” She crept toward the rustle of cloth, melding into the dark like a drop of ink into a midnight sky.

“You can’t win this. Give me the key, and I’ll let you both go.”

The scuff of a boot heel, the squeak of leather, the regular flow of breath, and heavy beat of a heart, Kamarr inched away, always away.

A low chuckle slipped past Seven’s lips. “Your reinforcements aren’t coming. It’s just you and me. Find your balls and let’s end this, ‘cause I can creep around in the dark all fucking day.”

A huff of exasperation, a chilling excuse for a laugh, the sniper rifle clattered into the light followed by a blaster. Seven could almost smell the spike of adrenaline rushing to fuel Kamarr’s next move. He broke from cover, twin swords glinting as they hit the dim halo encompassing the center of the building, including where Skavak hung, defenseless as a babe.

A flash of metal preceded Seven’s headlong sprint, the throwing knife cutting a trail for her to follow. Kamarr stumbled under the impact. He reached for the hilt protruding from his thigh as Seven plowed into him using her momentum and his weight to fling him to the floor. He rolled to his feet, same as she, and they faced off in the dust mote laden circle of light.

Seven took a defensive stance, her eyes following Kamarr as he paced three steps left, three steps right, twirling the swords idly with rotating wrists.

He stopped and met her gaze, his lip lifted in a snarl displaying the porcelain edge of a predator’s grin. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with, agent. They will rain hell down on you and yours.”

“Not if I bring the thunder first.”

His grin widened. “Just like you to bring a knife to a sword fight.”

“I’m not trying to compensate for size.”

His smile faltered. “Trying to goad me into a first move?”

She quirked a brow as his muscles tightened. “Must be working, tiny feet.”

“Your boy didn’t seem to think I was so tiny. He squirmed like a virgin.”

Seven’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Enough dick talk. I’ll be sure to send your sister to you when I find her.”       

That was the invitation to the dance Kamarr couldn’t refuse.

Intricate and flowing they moved around the floor. Closing, dodging, twirling in a waltz evenly matched by precision in footwork and deadly intent. Each searched for an opening, getting lucky from time to time. Blood speckled the floor in abstract art smeared by the brush of battle. Kamarr was down to one sword, the air reverberated with the spark and clang of colliding blades, the dull thud of fists and flesh, and the panting breath of exertion.       

Exhaustion tugged on Seven’s limbs as she and Kamarr circled like Firaxan sharks, all teeth but sluggish as if swimming through oil. Thrust, parry, duck, dodge, spin away, no energy expended on useless insult; bloody hell, the sonofabitch was good. Caught in an equidistant orbit, they continued the dance, equal in skill and murderous purpose.  

An unexpected noise invaded the sameness, a clattering of shackles. Kamarr glanced away. Seven didn’t. She fell into the rage, the bottled-up force of it propelling her through the gap in Kamarr’s defenses. Her hand grasped his wrist as she swung sideways around his body and rammed her knife into his armpit damaging if not severing the axillary artery and median nerve in one strike. The sword clanged to the floor, Seven twisted the knife as she disengaged and stepped back. Pain, surprise, shock, anger played across Kamarr’s face as he tucked his right hand under his left arm pulling it away in a gush of crimson.

His eyes locked with hers. “You should run now, little agent. My death will start an avalanche you can’t stop.”

Kamarr wobbled on his feet, his legs buckled, he went to his knees and then to his back. “I’m sorry, Lorika,” he rasped and went still.

Seven spared not one extra minute for Kamarr. Shaking from the aftermath of adrenaline overload, she pulled her comm link from her utility belt and went to Skavak. The rage was gone, leaving her empty. The swell of emotion rising to fill her up as she moved the netting aside and smoothed his hair back from his battered face was too raw, too real to bear. A fevered glow covered his skin, sickly pink beneath the marred pallet of purple and black blotches he wore like a patchwork quilt. Afraid to touch him, terrified not to, she laid her palm against the side of his neck. Around the tears and the lump she couldn’t swallow, she called Thel.       

“Please hurry,” she sobbed. “I can’t take him down. I’m scared to death I’ll hurt him or break something if I let him fall.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Dammit, Thel, I don’t matter.”

“You’re all that matters. Is he awake?”

“No.”

“Leave him be, girl. I’m on my way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't find a better place to end this, so here it is. Golly gee, I hate fight scenes. What's too much, what's too little? I always hope for the Baby Bear outcome where it's 'just right'. A little Goldilocks humor to round it out.


	20. Confessions from the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited and it went down the only way it could.

Another tremor wracked Skavak, rattling the restraints around his wrists and ankles.  The same noise that distracted Kamarr earlier and gave her the opening she needed, and, stars, he didn’t even know. His skin grew warmer under her touch, and a worrisome wheeze hissed from his mouth at the end of every shallow exhale. If it had been anyone else in the galaxy, she’d have released the shackles and taken the chance she could support the weight. She couldn’t risk it. Not with him. Never with him.   

Her gaze locked on Kamarr’s body, the hatred now a constant irritating ember at the center of her chest. She wanted to kill him again in someplace secret where screams are never heard and minutes ticked by in drops of blood. Time had cheated her of righteous vengeance. Time she couldn’t buy, and Skavak couldn’t afford.

“I never should have left you,” she whispered to Skavak for the fifth, or tenth, or twentieth time. Her fingers combed through the ends of his hair, searching for forgiveness somewhere in the inky strands.

Speeders whined to an abrupt stop outside the door. Seven moved to stand guard in front of Skavak, arms extended, blaster steady and aimed in a two-handed grip, trigger depressed half-way.

“Seven, it’s me,” Thel’s voice carried promise and comfort to her frayed senses. “Don’t shoot,” he added. “I’ve brought help.”

The weight of worry, guilt, and something else she couldn’t name pushed her weapon down as if the blaster’s burden was one thing too many for her to carry. Her arm hung limp at her side, her fingers numb around the blaster’s grip. Her mind treaded the fog of relief as her best friend strode toward her with four men and two hoversleds in tow.

She startled and met Thel’s peridot gaze as he laid his hand on her shoulder and moved her aside. “Holster your weapon before you shoot your foot off.” He glanced over at Skavak then back to her. “I’ve got him, girl. Don’t you worry, I’ve got him.”

Seven nodded and focused on the blonde man who’d spoken to her in words that skipped over the dull haze she struggled to pull out of. “Sorry. What?”

He cleared his throat. “We’ve spoken before, agent. I’m fixer thirty-six, and this is my cleanup crew. I’m going to help Thel get your friend settled. Tell my men what you need them to do.”

Fixer stepped around her. She stared blankly, spinning the wool of her thoughts into one cohesive thread. Her ears caught the rattle and click of bonds being released, interspersed with low murmurs of ‘Careful. Easy does it’. 

“Sweet merciful stars,” Thel exclaimed.

Seven spun on her heel, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. Skavak’s upper body slumped over Thel’s shoulder, his back scored by angry red lines seeping anew as the wounds stretched. Kamarr had blooded him, playing a sick crimson game on the canvas of Skavak’s perfect skin. She ached to go to him, touch him, cradle his head in her lap and turn back time with him in her arms. _I should never have left you._

Her body quivered with longing, locked in place by the knowledge she’d be more hindrance than help. She tore her attention away from Skavak and turned to the three men waiting for instruction.

Seven swallowed the feelings that would not serve her now and used up the last vestige of mercy she still harbored in her spy’s soul. “Three men are tranqed. Leave the youngest alive and take him someplace safe, kill the other two. What you do with the bodies is not my concern.”

“What about him?” One of the men pointed to Kamarr’s corpse.

“He has something I need, then you can dump him along with the rest of the trash.”

“Thel?” she said not turning around.

“Do what you gotta do, but be quick about it. I’m stabilizing your boy, but he needs to be in the tank soon.”

Seven pulled her blade from its sheath and strode over to where Kamarr lay sprawled on the floor. The blood had dried to a reflective pool darkened by her approach; his face frozen in a peaceful visage he didn’t deserve. To Seven, he was meat, grown rancid out of the womb and allowed to spread his rot for far too long.

She knelt by Kamarr’s outstretched arm and reached for the hand with the aurodium ring on the index finger. The ring that had slammed into her temple (slammed into Skavak), drove the air from her lungs (cracked Skavak’s ribs), cut into her cheek (broke Skavak’s nose). Her knife sliced downward through skin and bone. No trophy this, no remembrance of cruelty in human form, no display to put on a shelf or in a case. She stood, the digit heavy in her palm, the ring already pulling the warmth from her hand.

A new chill spread through her limbs, a cold fusion of deadly resolve that burned beyond the mission or the Empire. The bastards had made it personal and had no idea what she was capable of, but they would. She walked back to Thel and the man she craved more than life itself, giving nothing more to Kamarr, not even a backward glance.

“Fixer, I need you to send a message.” She extended her hand.

Fixer pulled a rag from one of the cleaning kits and took the severed finger from her palm, his brows raised in question.

“Send this to Tynon Burnn, care of Cole Industries along with a note. Use these words exactly. No signature. ‘I will burn you all and dance in the ashes.’ Send it today. Find out where he docked his ship and strip it down to the frame. Find his secrets. I’ll be in touch.”

“Seven,” Thel called from the hoversled where he pulled the last strap tight across Skavak to hold him in place. “We gotta go, or I’m gonna lose him.”

#

The trip back to the _Hedron_ faded to a blur of decrepit buildings, groups huddled miserably around fire pits, creaking, tilted ramps, and the beep of Thel’s datapad remotely monitoring Skavak’s heartbeat.

Thel jumped from the speeder, cutting the engine as it glided to a stop, and sprinted to the back to uncouple the hoversled. Seven grabbed the bundle of clothes one of Fixer’s men had found on a shelf in a back room of the warehouse before sprinting after Thel.

Ramp retracted and hatch sealed, Seven entered the medbay just as Thel and the droid lifted Skavak and deposited him on the diagnostics bed. He looked so broken, arms and legs dangling like a marionette with cut strings. Stars, what had she done? A thousand ifs flooded her mind; if only she’d done this, if only she hadn’t done that. She was drowning in regrets all the while the ache to rush to him burrowed into her bones.  

The medscanner detached from the wall on its gantry arm, moving over Skavak from head to toe and back again. The panel on the wall whirred to life as Thel studied the readout scrolling on the screen.

Seven took one wooden step forward and halted at Thel’s scowl and upraised index finger. “Stop, Seven.”

“I need to touch him.”

“And I need to save him. You’ve done your part. Let me do mine. Go make yourself useful and get us the fuck off this shitpile.”

Thel moved around the bed, each action precise and efficient. Syringes glinted in his hands; swatches of gauze cleaned patches of Skavak’s skin where Thel affixed electrodes to transmit vitals. He pinned her with a stony glare. “Now, Seven! Move your ass!”

She bit off a snarky comeback mid-word, common sense breaking through the roiling soup of conflict boiling in her gut. She cast one more longing glance at Skavak, balled her hands into fists, and walked away.

Hollow and disconnected, Seven went through the motions of programming the navicomputer, performing preflight checks, and engaging the repulsors. A slight shudder rippled through the ship when they broke atmo and again when she engaged the sublight drives. Half a parsec from Nar Shaddaa, she made the announcement over the intercom and brought the hyperdrive online. The jump pressed her back in the seat, momentarily aggravating her own injuries. She didn’t wait for the pain to subside before bounding from the chair and sprinting into the medbay.

Skavak floated in the tank, the droid scurried about cleaning up the used gauze and instruments, and Thel stood by the exam table patting the top. “You know the routine, girl. Drop your linen and hop on up. He’s where he needs to be. You do the same.”

“I didn’t expect you to bring company.” She winced as he cleaned the cuts and abrasions and poked at the bruise on her back.

“Your orders were to keep reinforcements away. Fuckers spread out, and these old legs don’t move as fast as they use to. Called in some reinforcements of my own.”

“I suspect Fixer and his crew weren’t the only ones you called in.”

“And I suspect you’ll never know.” He ran the portable scanner over her. “Screwed up that shoulder again, huh? You could use a half day in the tank yourself, but considering the current resident that doesn’t seem likely. You’re gonna be sore as hell for a couple of days and let me know if you start pissing blood.” He patted her knee. “You’re good to go.”

She held it together through the exam, the meds, the shower and the slow trek back to the medbay. She held it together until her fingers touched the glass of the tank and her gaze swept his battered body and came to rest on Skavak’s beautiful, broken face. The meltdown swallowed her, fluctuating between bouts of renewed anger, and fathomless dismay she hadn’t felt since her mother’s death. Her quiet tears screamed on the inside, compressing her chest into a tight cage, burning to burst free over the dry riverbeds of her eyes.  

Somewhere in the din of emotions buffeting her, she found her voice. “Will he live?”

“He’s beat to shit. Contusions, burn marks, and a hell of a lot of drugs to flush out of his system. His hands and feet are a bloody mess. He’s got cracked ribs, a lacerated spleen, and dehydration don’t help matters any. He’ll live, but it’ll take time.”

“How long?”

“Four, maybe five days in the tank. It’s the fever that’s got me worried. He’s under deep, and that’s something I can’t help him with. Some fights a man has to win on his own.”

She nodded, her jaw clenched, molars grating on molars. Kamarr had put his filthy hands on Skavak. Given him a full mouth kiss. Too intimate. Too vile. “Was he...? Did Kamarr...?”

“I didn’t find any evidence.”

She pressed her forehead against the cold surface of the glass. “Good.” Some wounds run too deep to scab or scar or ever heal.

“Get some rest. It’s over.”

“No, my friend. It’s just beginning.”

#

Thirteen days to New Cerna and Seven spent eight of those talking to Skavak. For the first five, she sat on the floor, back braced against the tank, mic open, her voice mixing with the kolto and bubbles swirling in the thick liquid. Even after Thel removed him from the tank, she continued for three more days sitting by the bed and droning on.

Of course, Skavak wouldn’t hear her, or if he did, he wouldn’t remember, but maybe the sound of her voice would guide him back. Wishful thinking, but, hell, she owed him this if nothing else for putting a target on his back. The skillset that had freed him was utterly useless now. She couldn’t infiltrate or seduce or fight her way through whatever had him in its clutches, and doing something was better than nothing.

She’d be lucky if he ever wanted to see her again, not that she could blame him, but she spoke to him anyway and told him things she’d never revealed to another living soul.

When she ran out of personal tales, she read from cheesy romance novels and stanzas of Sith poetry, lines from classic stories, and maintenance manuals.    

Late on the eighth day, he groaned. The most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.

“Thel,” she called as she sprang from the chair to stand by the bed and study Skavak’s face that still bore the last traces of fading bruises.

Skavak blinked, squinted into the light, blinked again in a quick succession of fluttering lashes. He finally opened his eyes with that muddled expression of someone just waking from a deep sleep and not quite knowing where they are.

Seven laid her hand on his shoulder. “Hello. Welcome back.”

Skavak’s gaze swiveled to her, blues eyes hard with accusation and disgust before turning his head away and croaking out a request for water from Thel.

Seven shrank back as if she’d been slapped and slid her hand from his shoulder. She’d expected him to be angry, had prepared for repercussions, but to be dismissed as if she were too abhorrent to even look at struck her like a fist. Hope crumbled inside, and at this moment, she’d never felt more alone.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she murmured and strolled from the medbay. She thought she heard someone say ‘wait,’ but didn’t stop to find out.

She settled into the haven of routine, checking the news from home, pulling up the geographic display of New Cerna, rechecking the list of Camarilla members, cleaning her weapons—twice. Plans formed and discarded and always that damned nagging voice of Watcher X telling her she needed Skavak. She gave herself a headache trying to figure out why.

On the morning of the eleventh day, she placed a call to Fixer thirty-six.

“Did you find Kamarr’s ship?” she asked.

“We did.”

“And?”

“Two slaves in the cargo bay, both in bad shape. The male didn’t make it, the female is in medical. Don’t know why we bother. She’ll just be sold again.”

“Not if I can help it. See if she has family and try to get her home.” Fuck, she hated slavers. “Anything else?”

“Comm logs wiped, travel logs wiped, and some damned tricky security on the only datapad we found. The place is squeaky clean.”

“Keep at it. Seven out.”

She drifted through the rest of the day and evening. Late night found her on the bridge as sleepy silence engulfed the ship, and the universe waited for dawn.

She felt rather than heard Skavak’s approach but didn't turn to acknowledge his presence.

She hated that triphammer thing her heart was doing. He had no right to affect her this way. “Should you be up and walking about?”

“Probably not, but you’ve been avoiding me. I did ask you to wait when you walked out the day I woke up.”

“Sorry, didn’t hear you.” It was only a partial lie, and his eyes had said something much different. She still didn’t turn around.

"I should be damned mad at you,” he said.  

“I think the look you gave me made that quite clear.”

“Not for the beating, but do you remember the day you kicked me off your ship?”

“I do.” Where the hell was he going with this?

"You never even said goodbye." Was that a hint of teasing in his voice?

"No, I didn't, but I said hello."

He crowded his body along her back, chest to shoulder blades, crotch to ass, and wrapped his arms tight across her midriff.

"Your hands are cold." She lifted her shirt and placed his hands on her bare skin, palms flat and fingers splayed.

“Mmm, that’s nice.” His breath tickled her ear. “You should have left me there.”

Not in this lifetime. “I’ll always come for you.”

He kissed the side of her neck. “Double entendre? I like.” 

He was so damned good at playful, and she wanted nothing more than to fall back into the trap, but it might be fun to test the bait a little longer. “Only you could add raunch to a straight forward statement.”

“It’s a gift.” His arms tightened. “I’m serious, though. I didn’t think you’d come for me and then when I realized you were, I knew how much risk you were facing.”

He just didn’t get it. “No matter where, no matter the danger, I will always come for you. Spy’s honor, cross my heart.”

“And hope to die?”

She rested the back of her head against his chest. “And hope to die.”

"Is this where we fall in love?" he whispered into her ear.

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Of all the things for you to remember. One line out of a romance novel.”

“But it was your voice asking.” He tucked his fingers under the waistband of her sleep pants and pressed something hard against her backside.  

 _Damn him._ He took her breath at the end of a sigh, but she’d ask again for real this time. "Well, is it?"

“I’ll get back to you on that. Right now, I have a medical condition that needs attending, and you’re the only cure.”


	21. A Slow Ride Through Storyvillle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of schmaltz and fluff. Seven and Skavak needed a break after the last couple of chapters, and so did I.

So adept at sidestepping the question, Skavak led her on with a one-track mind, and she followed the trail as if it were paved with candy. The man would give her cavities one of these days, but stars, he was sweet on the tongue.   

Never one to quibble over who takes bottom, and too weak for manly acrobatics, he assumed the prone position. All the necessary parts worked, and they fell into easy loving, gliding in familiar motion, attuned like well-meshed gears. She trapped him with her thighs. He made no attempt to escape. Unmanacled and pressed into the mattress, his hands served her, and she coaxed him, oh so gently, to that sublime moment of bliss.

She waited until he’d gone soft and yet she didn’t move, held captive by blue eyes more tender than she recalled. Perhaps a trick of the light or a trick of the man who played deception like a trump card in a dangerous game. Damn, she’d missed him in all his devious glory. But where did they go from here?

The million-credit question for the man who lay comfortable in her bed as though he’d never left. Numbness circled her toes and crept up the soles of her feet. Knees bent and calves pinned along his sides, she started to rise from his hips only to be clamped down by fingers with bruised nails and strong enough to hold her in place.

“Tell me a secret.” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Tell me your name.”

“You know my name.”

“I know your number. Tell me your name, and I’ll let you up.”

She wriggled her toes. Pins and needles fired off in aggravating bursts. “You’re in no condition to hold me here, and I can still take you.”

“I believe you already did.” He bumped his hips upward to make his point. “Your name,” he said again.

Hell. It wasn’t as if she had any family to protect, and her personal data had been stored years ago in the vast archives of Sith Intelligence, most of it likely redacted. She’d been a number as long as she could remember and hadn’t heard the sound of her birth name in years.

The last time had been from her mother’s lips as she lay dying on the streets of Kaas City, run down and left for trash. Her mother had told her to run, and she did. Terrified and tear streaked, she went through the survival checklist drilled into her for years. Credits from a tea tin hidden under a floorboard, citizens papers, clothes in a backpack waiting in the closet, a knife she tucked into her sock. Her old life locked in memory, she stepped into the unknown beyond the curtains of late summer rain.     

“Hey,” Skavak’s voice pulled her back to the here and now. She blinked as if just waking and gazed down into his eyes. “Rhea,” she said. “Rhea Solan.”

“Rhea,” he repeated and licked his lips as if tasting the sound before swallowing the morsel of herself she’d shared.

“Do you mind? My foot’s asleep.” She bunched her thigh muscles to rise again. He released his grip and folded his hands over his stomach. A much too satisfied expression covered his face as though he’d won a bet at a high stakes swoop race.

She rolled to her ass and stretched her legs, studying his body from neck to balls and balls to toes. Thinner than she remembered, carrying marks and scars he should never have had to bear. He lay still for her inspection, calm and unperturbed as she gathered the sheet and covered him to the waist. She scooted across the linen until her back hit the headboard on her side of the bed. _Her side_. The fact she still labeled the distinction surprised her though it shouldn’t have. She hadn’t slept on his side since he’d been gone, preserving the space as too sacred to touch and too painful to inhabit.   

“Tell me a story,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Like when I was in the tank. I don’t remember much except fragments and disconnected words and your accent. Sexy enough to entice me back from the brink.”

“I will if you tell me your name. I can’t call you Skavak forever, and it only seems fair.”

“Hmm, forever. I wonder how that feels. Call me Tam, if you have a mind to.”

She folded her arms across the sheet pulled up over her chest. “What would you like to hear?”

“The one where you ask if this is where we fall in love. It wasn’t from a romance novel, was it?”

“No, but that one makes me angry and more than a little sad.”

“Then tell me about Dromund Kaas. I’d like to hear it again.”

She shook her head, questioning his reasons and his sanity, and started at the only beginning she was willing to tell. “Once upon a time a street rat lived in Kaas City. A cutpurse and pickpocket extraordinaire, if I do say so myself. It was soup and sandwiches one day, garbage pickings the next. Small change felons; me, Snitch, Haley, and Buds, always hungry, always hiding, always free—until we weren’t. Keeper caught me when I was thirteen trying to pilfer a credcard from his pocket while Haley and Buds ran interference. Who knew the Old Man had such sensitive pants? He offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse. Jail or a new life. I never saw my friends again.”

“Don’t stop. I’m not asleep yet.”

“A bedtime story, huh?”

“You could say that. Please go on.”

Seven cleared her throat. “I went from street thug to the academy where I never quite fit in, but then none of us ever really did. Very few agents cut their teeth on normal family beginnings; tucked in at night, three squares, and a pre-determined future. Those sorts went military, diplomatic, or Medical Corp. Butt kissing, ladder climbers, every damned one of them, and don’t even get me started on the Sith. Of course, there were the ones bred to Imperial Intelligence. Raised in facilities and subjected to genetic manipulation, chemical enhancement, and loyalty programming.”

Skavak yawned, his eyes half closed. Not that it mattered. She didn’t have much more to tell. “I always wondered what had been done to me during those times of blackouts and hazy memories that evaded clarity except in dreams, only to be lost again when I woke. Us Cipher types are fringe dwellers, stripped down to nothing except survival instinct and rebuilt into no-ones with too many faces and a number for a name.”

She stopped talking and glanced over at Skavak whose breathing had deepened into the cadence of a slight pause before the next inhale. A minute detail a Cipher or a woman never forgets. She slid down between the sheets, turning to her side to watch him sleep. “Nodanoki,” she whispered in Old Sith to dim the lights, and settled in for the long vigil.

Morning came with a crick in her neck, and a warm body curled around hers. Her internal alarm hadn’t gone off, and she pushed her head back on the pillow to glance at the chrono on the night table. Nine-thirty-two a.m. Thel had let her sleep in and had to know by now she wasn’t alone.

She suppressed a groan and tried to wiggle out from under Skavak’s arm only to have it clamp around her ribs. He was awake. She felt it in the daytime tempo of the air he pulled into his lungs. The unasked question from the night before stumbled to a halt on the backside of her lips.  

“Don’t move.” His breath tickled the nape of her neck. “I like you right where you are.”  

“We’ll visit here again. In about twenty-two minutes, Thel is going to be banging at the door to remind you to get your ass back to the medbay. I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower and some caf, and we need to talk.”

“Killjoy,” he grumbled before rolling away and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Seven sat on the bed pulling the shaft of her boots over her calves and fastening the buckles tight. Skavak strolled from the refresher with a towel around his hips and damp hair falling in unruly strands across his forehead. The man was walking foreplay, a study in intimate design with satisfaction guaranteed and no refunds offered. Force help her.

“This is the second time I’ve been on your ship with no clothes.” He unabashedly dropped the fluffy white fabric, flashing her full frontal before retrieving his trousers and pulling them on. “I don’t mind going commando, but I want my shirt. You know which one.”

Taken aback, she grumbled, “you didn’t seem to want it a few weeks ago.”

“Yes, I did,” he said as he opened the door and slipped through.

Her mouth snapped shut, crushing any snappy comeback between her molars. That damned blue shirt he’d left as payback, and now he wanted her to think it held some importance to him? Bloody hell, as if.  

She never knew what to believe with Skavak. Trust was a far country she feared to tread, and yet, the possibilities of exploration and discovery were boundless. If she didn’t crave him like an addict for the first hit to the vein, she’d have carried out the sanction or left him to die. The good thing is, she knew his effect on her, the bad thing is, he knew it too.

Close to an hour later, Skavak joined her in the galley, poured himself a cup of caf and took the seat next to hers. The white shirt they’d rescued from Nar Shaddaa covered his torso, loose and not tucked in. His bare feet perched on the rungs of the stool. Not long after, Thel strolled by, threw a rolled-up pair of socks on the counter and moved on without comment.

Skavak raised the question that had lain dormant on her tongue since last night. “Where do we go from here?”

“Ferris-slash-Watcher X seemed pretty adamant that I needed you. Enlighten me,” she said.

He side-eyed her and replied, “Context.”

“Follow me.” Seven grabbed her cup and headed toward the door.

Skavak fell in behind, cup in one hand, socks in the other.

In the conference room, Skavak leaned on the table and donned the socks, wiggling his toes as if testing that they wouldn’t poke through.

Seven chuckled. “Shoe size has never been Thel’s problem. I’ve doctored his naked old ass enough times to know.”

“Thanks for the visual,” said Skavak and moved closer to the monitors now displaying two separate star charts. “What am I looking at?”

“A gift from Watcher X. Coordinates for some sort of hidden base, an operations center, I don’t know, but it’s important to the Camarilla. The problem being, I have no idea how to find it.” She glanced at his profile. “He gave this to me before he died and told me I’d need _my_ scoundrel. His words, not mine.”

A hint of humor crinkled the laugh lines at the corner of his eye. “I’ve never belonged to anyone before. How intriguing.”

“I doubt you’d like it.”

The humor drooped into sadness. “Probably not. I can’t say I’m sorry to hear about Ferrous’ demise. After all, the prick pulled me into this shitshow. However, he was right about one thing, though I’ll be damned if I know how he found out. I have a star chart that goes way beyond anything you currently have available...but I have certain conditions.”

“Such as?”

He turned to face her, all looming determination and hard-ass to the core. “I’m in all the way, or I’m out. You can’t simply drop me off like some nuisance you want to get rid of.”

She focused on the pulse point throbbing in his neck. “That’s not why I left you on Nar Shaddaa.”

His tone softened but not by much. “You can’t protect the Empire’s secrets and me at the same time by leaving me behind. My little adventure with Kamarr should have driven that point home, not to mention your Imperial cronies trying to crawl up my ass every time I turned around.”

He stopped to catch a breath. “Kamarr wasn’t in this alone, and I have some payback I’ve more than earned. As I see it, you’ve got two options to get to what I have; I stay with you to finish this, or you turn me over to your Keeper for interrogation. Make a choice, Seven.”

Cards on the table, his and hers, smacked down with anger and hurt feelings on both sides. She glowered and poked her finger into his chest. “You bloody idiot. I went against direct orders, and I came to save your ass. How could you even think I’d hand you over to Keeper? I don’t need to make a choice; it’s already been made or haven’t you been paying attention?”

_And now he has the nerve to smile. Jerk. Adorable, but still a jerk._

He grasped her hand and held it to his chest. “I always pay attention; it was confirmation I needed, last night notwithstanding. Guess I’m staying then. I hid the crystal in a storage bin on Nobata Jeceu months ago. I’d planned to pick it up in my brand-new ship but, we both know how quickly plans change. I suggest we make a side trip, soon.”

“Nobata Jeceu, the Hutt pleasure planet?”

She tried to pull her hand from his, he tightened his grip. “Don’t look so surprised. Let’s just say it was a layover to clear my mind of an unfortunate entanglement.”

“The woman who was never yours?”

He shrugged and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Thanks for the bedtime story.”

The question of where they went from here had been partially answered and mostly postponed. It would come up again at a later date, if they survived.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobata Jeceu means 'No Limit' in Huttese. I figured it was a good name for a pleasure planet.


	22. Silk and Other Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things move along.

Lorika's screams sprang through the apartment like wild beasts, bouncing off walls, clawing through floors, pouncing from the high ceilings. The house staff hid, wise from experience and long years of suffering the wrath of their mistress. Rage chased grief, and grief chased sorrow, looping around in a futile circle ending at the beginning only to start again. Bottles crashed, perfumes and lotions mixed with blood-red wine, spreading an odorous dark stain across the cream-colored carpet at her feet.

Tynon stood back, out of reach of the tirade, erasing his smug demeanor into drooping shoulders and sympathetic glances, all the while jubilation driving the beat of his heart. The agent had done what he’d wanted to do for years, rid the universe and his marriage of that bastard, Kamarr.

He found horrific beauty in his wife’s manic fantasies of what she’d do to the agent’s lover while she made the agent watch. Lorika’s cruel imagination spewed like vitriol while he observed with morbid fascination.

Lorika’s frenzied outburst made her predictable to a point, but she’d be her most dangerous when she withdrew into silent mourning. She’d escalate the timeline for the project’s completion forcing him to placate their associates, a role he’d assumed many times. And of course, she’d double down on her hunt for the agent and turn the screws tighter on the informant in Sith Intelligence. Family safety provided a marvelous incentive when simple greed failed to work.

His wife might be broken now but not for long, and he loved to play with broken things. She’d want it rough tonight, and he’d oblige, fixing her fractured porcelain veneer with equal parts pleasure and pain.

Tynon lowered his gaze to the severed finger in the delivery carton, discolored into sickly gray and mottled spots of vivid purple. The ring winked at him playfully, tauntingly. He barely suppressed the smirk toying with the corners of his mouth.

_Who’s laughing now, you perverted little prick?_

#

The sound of metal banging on metal and strings of colorful expletives drew Seven toward the cargo bay.   

She stood in the doorway, hands on hips. “You’re breaking my stuff.”

“I’m liberating my shirt.” Skavak whacked the drawer again trying to dislodge a stubborn bolt refusing to loosen its hold.

“For fuck's sake. At least use the proper tools.”

He brandished the prybar in her direction. “Stand back, woman. A surrender is imminent, and I’ll not be cheated of victory.”

“You are quite mad.”

He responded in harsh bursts of ragged breath, “probably, though I expect my association with you has worsened that affliction.”

Caught somewhere between amusement and the sharp pang of discomfort at his bluntness, Seven observed the continued assault on the storage bin in silence. Skavak's forearms flexed and muscles bunched beneath his shirt as he delivered each blow to the stubborn metal. His face flushed red with determination and pent up anger, and though he’d never blamed her outright for Kamarr, his words held a hint of accusation. Or maybe her own guilt had risen again to choke playful banter into strangled misconception. If so, the joke was on her, and laughter was light years away.

She startled as the drawer face clanged onto the decking followed by the dull echo of the prybar hitting the floor. Skavak’s hand disappeared into the drawer box and emerged with his hard-earned prize. Pale blue silk unfolded and hung from fingers pressed into the fabric with gentle care. An expression of smug satisfaction crossed his sweat-streaked face as he heaved himself from the floor and draped the shirt across the bend of his elbow.  

“You two need some time alone?” Seven teased.

His mouth canted into a crooked smile. “The feel of silk should be shared. Don’t you agree?”

Perhaps she’d misread him...again. Perhaps not. The game’s rules kept shifting. She’d anted up and win, lose, or draw, she’d see it through to the end. Her gaze met his. “Who’s wearing? You or me?”

He stroked the fabric. “Who said anything about wearing? I’ll show you later.”

And, void take her, he did.

#

They flew low over the landscape of New Cerna, searching for the coordinates and a safe place to land. The planet reminded Seven of Korriban, stark and barren except for outcroppings of scrub and stunted trees reaching for life at the edge of the occasional muddy pond. Planetary bombardment had reduced the cities to rubble and killed the once verdant paradise in a war that left nothing but devastation behind.

Thel found what he’d been looking for and settled the _Hedron_ on a flat spot free of rock and vegetation roughly three clicks from their actual destination. The hazy atmosphere, thin but breathable, blocked much of the sun’s warming rays keeping the ambient temperature a chilly 10˚C. Donned in jackets, rebreathers hanging around their necks and armed to kill, the three left the sanctuary of the ship.

Nothing but red dirt now, the remains of clay underfoot had gone dead and dry like rusty skin flaking off old bones. Datapad in hand, Thel led the way using the device’s internal compass to keep them on track. Midges and flies swarmed about their heads. Bloodthirsty and annoying, the buzzing competed with the whine of an undying wind that brushed all traces of their passage away.    

“This is it.” Thel slapped at his neck and cursed.

“City ruins are about half a click that way.” Seven pointed to the remains of walls and structures rising in the distance.

Thel hooked the portable sonic probe to his datapad. She and Skavak peered over his shoulder to watch the readout which displayed a network of tunnels or corridors 9 meters below where they stood.

Seven kicked into the dirt. “Is there a way in?”

“Not here.” Thel shook his head. “But this central passage leads toward the ruins. I’ll take scans as we go.”

Once a hub of commerce and culture, New Cerna’s capital now lay wasted and forgotten. Girders rose from the ground like ribs of a giant beast stripped clean by time and decay. Wind whistled through broken windows, eyes to the soul of a city long damned by a galaxy forever at war. Uneven pavement offered unsteady footing while blowing grit crunched beneath their boots.

“Over there.” Thel pointed to a half-destroyed structure with walls leaning precariously against each other a mere breath from tumbling to the ground.

They stepped into the interior through a crumbling archway and Thel raised his fist in the universal sign to halt. “A deathtrap if ever I saw one. Tread lightly and don’t touch a fucking thing. There’s an entrance toward the back through the vaults if it’s not blocked.”

The remains of marble counters and the bent steel frames of teller cages lined either side of the lobby while offices lay behind crumbled walls at the back. Broken desks, chairs, and equipment scattered about like carelessly thrown dice and a heavy vault door hung from bent hinges; the area behind an unwelcoming maw of darkness.

Thel entered first, the light of his glowstick shimmering in the darkness like a firefly. “I need some help in here,” he called.

“After you.” Skavak swept his arm toward the entrance.

The vault’s walls were lined floor to ceiling with safe-deposit boxes of varying sizes, many open with the contents long gone. Skavak ran his fingers over the locking mechanisms of three or four that remained untouched before joining Seven and Thel in the far back corner of the room.

“I’ll need to cut through this.” Thel shone his light on the buckled plating and nudged the lifted corner with his boot.  

A half hour and several pieces of plating later, a trap door lay revealed in the newly exposed sub-flooring.

Thel dropped into the opening and fired up the cutting torch again. “Shit. No power for slicing, I’ll have to cut to get to the mechanism.”

Seven leaned against the wall beside Skavak. “You planning on coming this way again?”

He shrugged. “Eventually. I’m not one to let opportunity pass me by, and nobody on this world needs what’s behind those little locked doors. Might be treasure, might be bust. Either way, I’m up for the adventure, if nothing else.”

“And the challenge?”

He cast a slow wink her way. “Always the challenge.”

The squeak of gears, and grinding of levers issued from the hole. Skavak jumped into the opening and together, he and Thel lifted the trap door covering a set of steps leading down into the dark void beneath.

Thel broke a chemlight and dropped the pieces into the hole. They came to rest not far below, providing faint illumination and proof that no pit trap waited for unwary trespassers.

The tunnel ran straight to the end with nothing but cobwebs as a barrier. Two side corridors broke to the left and right from the dead end. Thel glanced at his compass and led them to the left, stopping at an entrance that opened into a larger area.

Two old battle droids stood sentinel beside a large storage crate, its lid askew, its contents plundered. A skeleton long desiccated into yellowing bones sprawled at the base of the crate, another by a support pillar and one more at the back of the room.

Thel skipped a small stone across the floor and cast another through the air about chest high. “Seems those poor sods triggered whatever traps had been laid.” He stepped across the threshold.

Skavak glanced into the empty crate. “A wasted trip after all.”

“Not necessarily.” Seven sidled between two pillars at the furthermost edge of the room, studying a small discolored section of wall. Unshouldering her rifle, she inched back and tapped the center of the rough square. Bits of plaster fell away. Seven kept poking until a grid of tiles came into view.

“Thel. Come look at this,” she said.

“I’ll be damned. A slide puzzle.” Thel reached forward and stopped himself before his finger touched the surface. He gathered a handful of pebbles from the floor and tossed one at the top left tile. Several needles popped through the surface, covering the entirety except for a small area. He followed suit on the remaining tiles, each one revealing a different safe place to touch.

“Can you solve it?” asked Skavak.

“I think so,” Thel answered. “Seems to be letters, but I’ll be damned if I recognize any of the structure.”

“It’s Kattât,” Seven offered. “Ancient Sith. We just need to move the tiles into the correct order. You’ll see the pattern once you start. The consonants are linear with vowels offset between.”

With Seven’s guidance and a little over an hours’ worth of work, Thel stepped back from the solved two-line puzzle. “Well, what does it say?”

“Zûtazihri Shahkû, or ‘lost home’ in basic, more commonly known as Merrides,” answered Seven.

Skavak blew a low whistle between his teeth. “Isn’t that the ancient Sith planet that fell off the grid close to a thousand years ago?”

“It’s all but a myth now. The Empire gave up the search centuries ago.” Seven moved closer to the puzzle and pointed at the center of the single blank space left. “What’s that circular area?”

“Likely another trap. Stand aside.” Thel pulled a telescoping stun rod from his utility belt, extended it fully and knelt down before prodding at the circular mark. Something snapped inside, and a dart whizzed over his head to embed in the far wall. He poked at the spot again and got nothing.

Seven strode forward and cleared away the remaining waxy cover of a tube-shaped container and removed the rolled-up parchment hidden inside.

Thel held the light as Seven carefully unrolled the aged scroll. Written in Ancient Sith, it contained a star chart depicting a world that had not been seen for a millennium.

“Seems the lost home isn’t lost anymore.” Seven re-rolled the map and tucked it inside her jacket.

“Guess we’re one step ahead,” said Thel.

“That we are.” Seven took aim at the puzzle and fired, destroying the tiles and leaving no evidence behind. “Let’s take a stroll down that other corridor just to be sure we didn’t miss anything and get the hell out of here.”

Nothing but more scavenged crates filled the other room. No hidden panels or objects of interest, not that it mattered to anyone but Skavak. She had what she’d come for.

Topside had grown colder in the approaching dusk, the sun a muddy ball hanging just above the horizon. The wind had forsaken its jaunty tune and escalated into a menacing howl whipping the parched earth into a fog of particulates obscuring their vision.

They’d just exited the building and reached the bottom steps when a basso voice boomed out of the gathering gloom. “Stop right there, Seven.”

As one, all three of them dropped and rolled to cover behind the nearest piles of rubble. Seven motioned for silence to Skavak and Thel before adjusting her aural implant.

“That you, Fourteen?” she called back.

“You never forget a voice, do you?”

Seven detected movement ahead and spreading out. She gave the hand signal that they were being flanked. “I’m here on official business. Why are you here?”

“I’ve come for the key. You and the thief are just an added bonus. We landed two days ago. It was rude to make us wait.”

“Sorry for the inconvenience.” She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it to Thel. “Guard this with your life.”

“Come on out. This doesn’t need to get nasty.”

“Sure, it does.” Seven pointed to her right. Thel nodded. Her form shimmered in the dim twilight and disappeared.       

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never. I had this chapter all outlined and then it hit me that I was going to write myself into a corner so scrapped practically the whole thing and started over. It's a bit short, but hope you enjoy.


	23. Interim of a Sigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of action, a bit of fluff.

Seven had barely taken two steps before the distant _thwomp_ of a grenade launcher reached her enhanced hearing followed by the skittering clank of rolling metal. Skavak would be closest to the blast. Time became a heartbeat.  

Air burst from Skavak’s lungs with an _oomph_ as she tackled him to the ground covering his body with hers. The impact knocked her stealth generator offline. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as the concussion of the grenade rolled over them, peppering her legs, buttocks, and back with stinging shards of debris.

Her ears rang from the force of the blast. She and Skavak’s gaze connected for a moment. An undefinable message swept between them as she heaved herself into a crouch. She shook her head to clear the fuzz and reached behind her ear to reset her implant as she inspected Skavak for injuries. A few blood spatters dotted the cloth of his shirt, his or hers she couldn’t tell. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thel, you okay?”

Thel answered with a thumbs up.

“Get him to a choke point, and hold.”

The brush of Skavak’s fingers across her ribs pulled her attention to him. “You’re bleeding,” he said, a hint of concern blended into his flat statement of fact.

“Yes,” she replied as if seeing his fingertips covered in crimson were common, everyday fare. “Both of you go.”

Thel tapped Skavak on the shoulder and hitched his head toward the ruins. A moment of indecision would get them killed. She shoved at Skavak to force him to move and watched him and Thel fold into the encroaching darkness.

A delicious cocktail of endorphins and adrenaline flooded her system, numbing the sharpest pain into a dull ache. Seven flexed her fingers against the jitters. Something grated against the bone in her right thigh with each contraction of muscle and shift of position. Blood trickled down her leg. The fabric of her bodysuit licked the puncture wounds in her back and ass with tongues of fire. She gritted her teeth, engaged the stealth generator, and crept into the night like a wraith.

An irritating buzz jumbled the sound input but not enough to impede her advance toward whispers of movement behind a jut of rubble up ahead. Fourteen’s men were on the move. He should never have separated his team. A rookie mistake, and one that would cost him.

A form coalesced out of the blowing dust. A specter silhouetted in the light of a pale moon peeking over the horizon. Short, lean, armored; a Rhodian. His antennae twitched, searching for changes in air density or vibrations from the lightest footfall. Seven matched her steps to his, making up ground with longer strides: step, halt, step, halt. He felt her presence too late when her arm slid around his throat, and the blade slipped under the armor and twisted into his spinal cord.

Seven lowered the body to the ground and moved on. From behind, blaster fire echoed against the wrecked walls and down the long corridors of the ruined city. Silence fell, and Thel’s voice scratched through her comms, “your boy’s still alive.”

On a rise roughly nine meters ahead, the occasional adjustment of head and shoulders and glint of a rifle barrel caught Seven’s attention. Another shadow crouched further away. Likely lookouts for the two males whose conversation crackled through her implants.  

“I told you this wouldn’t work. Not with her. It was stupid to send anyone alone. You should have kept your men together. We could have stormed her position.” Fourteen’s voice rumbled with warning.

“It wasn’t your call,” male number two argued.

“You bloody fool. It takes a spy to catch a spy. She’s out there, probably listening. Let me go after her.”

“And have you disappear? You forget your role in all this.”

“I haven’t forgotten what you hold over my head.” A hint of resignation flavored Fourteen’s reply. “Let me do my damned job.”

After an interval of silence, male two said, “alright, but don’t forget the cost if I go back empty handed.”

“You never let me forget,” came the harsh retort followed by the familiar zinging whine of a stealth generator being activated.

So, this is how it’s going to play out, huh? Training vs. training, skill vs. skill, and from the sound of it, Fourteen had as much to lose as she. Seven pulled a locator tab from her utility belt, turned it on and placed it on the ground before slowly backing away from her current location. Not set to broadband, the beacon would broadcast in a narrow stream at a preset frequency only Thel would pick up. She couldn’t take on Fourteen this close to the other men, and she needed the other men dead.      

Thel would go for them, Fourteen would go for Thel, and all she had to do was wait. Damn, she hated using one of her own as bait, and what about Skavak? She couldn’t think about that now. The lookout’s scope would be useless in the dust-laden air, something she counted on. It would come down to a firefight and hand to hand with a man who outweighed her by at least six stone. Once it started, death would be quick and ugly, as only death could be.

Seven adjusted her implant, filtering out the ambient sounds of the world. The whining wind, the buzz of insects, the fast feet of whatever animal life came out after dark receded into white noise. She started back toward the ruins altering her steps to match the sound of shifting grit and sand. Off to her right, a heavier footfall; toe, heel, stop, move on.

Thel was also on the move, quiet, but not enough. Skavak dogged Thel, the rhythm of his strides imprinted forever on her mind. Fourteen cut over to intercept, hoping to lure her out. She swept diagonally to oblige his expectations. She’d be exactly where he wanted her to be and use his certainty as another weapon she could wield.

Seven’s hearing had honed to heartbeats now, the steady thud in her chest, the adrenaline-laced patter of Skavak and Thel, the thump of Fourteen as he closed in. The agent stalked her, almost there, she ground her boot into the dirt and halted. Fourteen lunged at the sound, Seven tucked and rolled, their stealth fields collided and discharged against each other in a hissing crackle that threw them apart.

“Three!” Seven gave Thel the numbers he was walking into, and sidestepped, feeling the jolt as Fourteen’s stealth field skimmed along hers. Her exclamation would bring the other men. They were Thel’s problem. Fourteen was hers.       

Pain shot through her thigh like a molten river with nowhere to go as she sidestepped again. “I’ll drop mine if you drop yours,” she hissed and circled, gauging the reach of their arms and the distance between two beating hearts.

“It won’t make any difference.” A strange thing to say, tempered with the chill of defeat as if he’d planned it this way all along.

Fourteen appeared before her maybe three meters away. Moonlight glistened off his golden hair and cast shadows across his face. Tall. Handsome. Such a waste.

Seven crouched and winced as the piece of shrapnel bit deeper into the bone. She disengaged her generator as promised.

They stared at each other for a moment, sizing up, evaluating, seeking a weakness. Endorphins flooded her system again, modern tech at its finest, blocking the pathways of pain. Fourteen feinted to the left, swung right, clipped her jaw, and the rest became a blur.

Despite the falling temperature and visible puffs of vapor expelled from laboring lungs, earthbound droplets of sweat stung her eyes. Fourteen came at her again, going for the leg, keeping her off balance. The wind rubbed grit into the open wounds where Fourteen’s knife had opened up fabric and flesh alike. She felt her skin going purple where foot or fist broke through her defenses. Bloody hell, the bastard was fast.

Blaster fire from the ridge illuminated the night with its own grisly light show before bowing out to the thud of fists and the song of naked steel. Thel’s voice rang out of the darkness, “Skavak, get that sonofabitch!” The sound of running feet, the tumbling of bodies into the dirt, a scuffle, a muffled groan, and silence.

“Your team is down.” Seven rose to the balls of her feet and spun away deflecting Fourteen’s knife with the flat of her blade.

“Not my team,” Fourteen grunted. “My watchdogs.”

“Being on a leash is no excuse for treason. Surrender. There’s nowhere to run.”

Fourteen stopped circling, pulled himself upright though an undefined burden bent his shoulders in a downward arc. “I can’t go back. You know what Keeper would do to me and I’m not the one at risk.”

One half of his face drooped where she’d scored him from nose to jaw. A corner of his mouth jerked up into a macabre grin. He closed on her, a calculated move, two seconds in the making, one second of execution. Wide open and undefended, he impaled himself on her blade as profound sorrow fleeted across the pupils of his eyes.

His weight drove her to her knees, his head cradled in her lap. Crimson bubbles popped at the edge of his lips. He coughed, spraying her face with warm saliva and gore. He grasped her wrist with his fading strength.

“Save her,” he gasped. “When you go for them, save her.”    

“Who?”

His chest rattled; his words gurgled. “Taani, my daughter.” His grip tightened. “Promise me.”

So, that’s what they’d used to make him turn. Seven lowered her gaze to his pleading stare. “You bloody damned fool. If you’d said something, this would have turned out different.”

“Promise me.” His fingers dug into her arm.

“I can’t promise, but I’ll try. Do you know where they have her?”

He shook his head, his eyes fixed vacantly on something far away.

Seven slapped Fourteen’s cheek, bringing him back around. “Are you working alone?”

He shook his head again, his eyes losing focus, and lids half closed.

She heard Thel and Skavak come up behind. “We’ll take him back to the Empire for burial.”

Fourteen’s hand fell away from her wrist. “Leave me. I’m already lost.”

The stench of death wafted across her nostrils carried by Fourteen’s final exhale. She lowered his head to the ground and tried to rise. Her legs gave out, she fell into Skavak’s arms and surrendered to his strength when hers was gone.

“Let’s get out of here.” Skavak draped her arm across his shoulders, his hand firmly against her waist. Thel followed suit, and together they helped her hobble back to the ship.

At the entrance, Seven balked. “Thel, take the droid and get Fourteen’s body to his ship. If you can’t gain entry, leave him close so that nothing of him remains, then make that ship go away.”

#

Seven woke to dimmed lights, a dry mouth, and stiff muscles that groaned when she moved. She propped herself on her elbows and glanced over at the man beside her. Skavak lay on his stomach, arms stretched up and under the pillows, face turned away, his dark hair a messy halo.

She eased from the bed and pulled the refresher door closed, hoping not to disturb his sleep. Nature appeased, she washed her hands and swished water around in her mouth, spitting it into the sink. Her reflection stared back with healing bruises and haunted eyes as she wiped her hands and lips with a towel. The encounter with Fourteen came rushing back chased by a question she wasn’t prepared to answer; not yet—not now. Would she betray the Empire for love? Could she make the final sacrifice? Stars, she didn’t know, and perhaps not knowing was an answer unto itself.

Skavak hadn’t moved when she crawled back into bed. He didn’t move when she sidled closer, the tempo of his breathing unchanged. She surveyed the landscape of his naked back tapering down to the bump of his butt under the sheet. Six horizontal scars lay beneath his shoulders, bridging the space between his shoulder blades. Pinkish lines faded in places to near white. She would have spared him this if she could, the marks of a madman he’d carry for life.      

Her head lowered to place a kiss, her tongue licking each scar, rough in places and smooth as silk in others. Her mouth followed the curve of his spine, the ridges and hollows of his ribs, the rises and valleys of his muscles. He tasted of salt seas and sunshine. He smelled of soap and sleep.

A deep inhale inflated his lungs as he stirred and stretched. His knuckles hit the headboard, his legs straightened, rigid as planks before relaxing with a sigh. “I’m going to poke a hole in this mattress if you don’t stop.”

“That would be destroying Imperial property. Roll over before you break any laws.”

“I’m at your mercy, agent. You going to cuff me?”

“Do I need to?”

“Some other time. For now, I’ll comply.”

“Smart man.”

Seven skimmed the sheets from his ass and down his thighs as he situated himself, arms still raised above his head, his cock on display and ignoring the law of gravity.

His breath hitched as her lips cleared a path from ribs to navel. She stopped to nip at his hipbone, and plant kisses on that strange birthmark before working her way to center and licking up from base to tip. Still too sore to take the weight of him or ride him into submission, she could give him the warmth of her mouth and the skill of her hands.

When the essence of him lingered salty and spicy on the back of her tongue, she lay her head on his chest and waited for him to float back to her.

He tried to roll her over, she resisted. “Surely, some form of compensation is due. You took a grenade for me and now this.” He stroked her hair and the top of her arm.

“Tell me about the woman who was never yours,” she said.

His hand stopped mid-stroke; his heartbeat escalated. “I’m not sure I want to go there and not sure you want to know.”

“A wise agent learns all she can about the competition or possible enemies.”

His hand moved again, fingers light on her skin. “She’s neither.”

“Then what’s the harm?”

“I won’t give you her name,” he began. “What I can tell you is she’s beautiful, funny, intelligent and has talents I can never begin to understand.”

She almost wished she hadn’t asked. “I see.”

His deep chuckle vibrated against her cheek. “You jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Uh-huh.”

The man’s ego knew no bounds. Seven rolled her eyes. “Stop stalling and get on with it.”

“Alright.” His tone became distant as he searched through memory. “She and I have a long colorful history. I stole a spice shipment from her right after we first met, got her blacklisted with the Hutts. She hunted me and hated me for years. Desperate times on the heels of a bad deal, and we got reintroduced by one of my crazy schemes and an old friend of hers. Too long locked together, her broken by a mistake of indecision and me just plain broken. Shit happens in space. Shit you never expect.”

He remained silent for a time and continued on with a hint of bitterness. “To be honest, I was a diversion or maybe a test to see if she could live without the man who owned her heart. She couldn’t. I watched her nearly die and walked away before she woke, leaving her in better hands than mine.” He practically growled his next words, “she opened up a place in me I wish to _hell_ she’d left closed.”

The user got used, cracked open, and exposed to the core. If Seven were jealous at all, it was for the fact she hadn’t been the one to touch that part of him first. Skavak in love would be glorious, and she’d missed her chance. “You loved her.”

“I did.”

“You miss her.”

“Not anymore. She and I had no future even if the other guy never existed. I might have changed for a while, but I’d have reverted back to my ways eventually, and that would have been the end of us.”

Before she could stop herself, Seven blurted, “I’d never ask you to change.”

Skavak kissed the top of her head, and whether or not he meant to say it out loud, he whispered, “I know...and that scares the hell out of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fight scene became more about strategy than a blow by blow recounting. I think it worked.
> 
> And the fluff is just fluff.


	24. Secrets and Past Indescretions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behind the scenes manipulations, some banter on a Hutt Pleasure planet.

“Ouch!” Seven rubbed the side of her head and frowned at Thel. “What’d you do that for?”

Thel held a silver strand between his thumb and forefinger, the single hair fluttering in the draft from the vent. “Your first gray hair, girl.”

“Exactly. _My_ gray hair and not yours for indiscriminate plucking.”

“Not to worry. There’ll be more.” He pushed his fingers through the hair at his temple, exposing a peppering of white amid the dark auburn.

Thel continued his poking and prodding. “You’re gonna have scars this time. Going into the tank like I wanted would have reduced the extent of the damage. You’ll have to go back to DK to get them removed.”

“Not going to have them removed.” Seven pulled her shirt up her arms and over her shoulders.

“The Old Man won’t be pleased. You know the regs: no identifying marks, not even a freckle. Lay back and turn to your side so I can check that leg.”

She went prone and turned. “Keeper will just have to get used to the fact I’m done with that. Let the younger ones take over.”

Thel helped her sit up. “It’s the job, Seven, and you’re one of his best.”

“I’m a far better assassin, and for the first time since I can remember, I feel alive. I’m free to feel everything, and I can’t go back to dying one fuck at a time.”

“And if Skavak leaves?”

She’d considered the possibility, every day, every night, in his arms or out. Choices; and she’d never deny Skavak his. “I’ll be miserable, but misery is part of being alive, isn’t it? And this conversation is over.”

She stretched her leg. The stitches still pulled but they’d come out soon enough. She asked the question she hadn’t had the chance to ask before, considering her injuries, being sedated, and waking in her own bed. “You take care of Fourteen’s ship?”

“I did. Their security was shit. Didn’t find anything of interest either. Comm and travel logs were wiped. Checked the bodies too, same thing. There’s nothing left of the ship but scrap. Made a pretty fireball though. We gave Fourteen a right proper send-off, traitor or not. You gonna call the Old Man?”

“As soon as we’re done and I’ve changed clothes.” She slid off the exam table, the cold deck leeching her warmth through the soles of her feet. “Stars, Thel, Fourteen had a kid. Why would he commit suicide by friendly fire?”

“I suspect he did it for the kid. Even if he managed to rescue her, where would he go? The Empire would hound him forever. They know his face; they don’t know hers, yet. Too much tech on populated worlds and too dangerous on undeveloped ones. As long as he lived, there’d always be a trail. They could never stay together, and he knew it. So many variables being on the run. Complicate that with a kid, and I can’t see any happy outcomes.”

“What the hell does he expect me to do with her if I find her?”

“I’ll be easier for you to leave her someplace and walk away unhindered by emotional attachment.”

“It’s not as if us Ciphers have a list of trustworthy friends we’d leave a child with.” She tugged on the hem of her shirt. “What a sad commentary that is.”

“Prudent, not sad, considering the life expectancy.”

She bent to kiss his cheek. “You’re still around, old friend.”

“Someone’s gotta watch your backside.” He gave her an ass slap as she walked from the room.

Skavak sat on the bed when she entered her quarters, bare-chested, knees bent under the sheet that covered him to the waist, a datapad in his lap. He graced her with a crooked smile and went back to whatever he’d been working on.  

The shape of him was an open invitation for mischief. It would be so easy to tell duty to bugger off and RSVP. She huffed a sigh of frustration. “You going to stay in bed all day, Lazy?”

“The droid is cleaning my pants. My _only_ pair of pants. Of course, I could parade about with my dangly bits on display.”

“I wouldn’t mind having them within easy reach.” She rifled through the closet for her uniform. “But Thel might have an objection.”

“Thel objects to my presence, period.” His gaze followed her as she dressed. “Getting all spit-shined for the boss?”

She shrugged into her jacket, buttoned it up to her chin and hand smoothed the placket into an unwrinkled line. “Keeper’s a stickler, and I can use all the good agent points I can get. I might even try not to drive a bug up his ass, not that I think it’d fit considering the permanent stick already in residence.”

“No love lost?”

“Keeper is dangerous. Something I try to bear in mind as long as my mouth doesn’t disengage from my brain.” She blew him a kiss. “Here’s hoping he’s had his tea. Wish me luck.”

The holo connection was crappy and, likewise, Keeper’s mood. “I expected to hear from you before this, Agent. What news do you have?”

“Good day to you too, Boss.”

Even through the sketchy holo image, she could see the vein in his forehead begin to throb. Oh yes, definitely in a mood.

“I take it you’ve been to New Cerna?”

“I have.”

“And?” He tugged on his jacket.

“Found an old map to Merrides and ran into Cipher Fourteen.”

His image went stock still. So still that she thought she’d lost the link and was merely looking at an after echo. “Keeper?”

“I’m here.” He dragged his hand over his chin. “Merrides is a forbidden world. The Dark Council has declared it off-limits should the location ever be revealed. Under no circumstances are you to travel there.”

Another secret for her to chew on. “What if it’s tantamount to my finishing this mission. Surely they’d lift the ban.”

Keeper’s gaze slid sideways for an instant. “They will not change the edict. What about Fourteen?”

“He’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“You know; heart stopped, not breathing, not moving. That kind of dead.”

“Watch your tone, Seven. Explain.”

She’d already made up her mind to keep the kid off the board. Keeper didn’t need any more pieces to move around, and she didn’t trust that he’d make the right one. “Turns out, Fourteen was half of your pest problem. You’ve still got vermin in the barn, and he bled out too fast to give us a name.”

“You’re bringing the body back to us?”

“What would be the point? I was injured. He was dead. Our interrogation methods are good, but not that good.”

“His ship?”

She shrugged. “Some sort of self-destruct or malfunction. There’s nothing left.”

He didn’t for one second believe her. She didn’t give a shit and could play the blank stare game all day. She switched the conversation back to the mole. “Might I suggest you find one person you trust and have them closely monitor activities on the floor? There’s bound to be changes in someone, no matter how subtle.”

“Watcher two would fit that bill nicely.”

“Nine’s old contact? Good choice.”

“I neither solicit nor need your approval.” He clasped his hands at his back, his eyes narrowed.

_Here it comes._

“I hear you left Nar Shaddaa with a certain ne’er do well in tow and in dire straits. I take it he’s alive?”

Seven mimicked his pose. “He is, and I intend to keep him that way.”

“Indeed.”

“I need him.” She didn’t expound on the meaning or depth of that statement. Let Keeper make of it what he will.

“Hmm, yes.” They stared at each other. He blinked first. “What’s your next stop?”

“Nobata Jeceu. Skavak has an item of import to the mission. I can’t move on without it or him.” In other words, she’d just told Keeper, politely, to back the fuck off.

His eyes were slits now. He’d got the message. “I see. Then what?”

“Follow the trail to its end, but first I’m going to pull a few legs off the spider.”

“Not fingers?” He almost smiled.

“You’ll know when it hits the news.”

“Good hunting. Keeper out.”

Seven unbuttoned her jacket, getting relief from the too tight, too stiff collar. The invisible one still remained with no way to escape its stranglehold.

“Not bad, considering you just pulled Keeper’s dick,” Thel said from the doorway.

“Could’ve been worse, I guess. Stars, I need a drink.”

#

“She’s sassy. I like her.” A robed figure stepped from behind a wall divider barely wide enough to hide his thin form.

“Annoyingly so, My Lord.” Keeper bowed ever so slightly.

“Will she finish the mission?”

“You’d like her tenacity too. She’ll finish.”

“And Merrides?”

“She’ll go eventually, even if she never gets the other key.”

“The key was never the goal. It was always to quell this uprising. We’ve stood on the precipice before, and I look to you and your Agent to pull us back from the brink. Am I understood?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“One more thing. This Agent would best serve us as a ghost, and I don’t mean the dead variety. Once she’s made her mark, make the offer.”

“If she turns it down?”

“I hear Shadow Town is lovely this time of year.”

#

The first thing that struck Seven as she ambled down the ramp of the _Hedron_ was the mixed scents of Sweetblossom, Jade Rose, and non-recycled air. Noise rose and fell in an undulating wave of the hopeful arriving and the hopeless departing. The flash of gold, the rustle of silk, the men looking for one-night love, the women willing to give it for a price. The whole planet swayed to the beat of sex and sin, pleasure and pain swallowed by neon dazzle.

“Where to?” asked Seven.

“Big building through the archway. Combination casino and hotel; Bu Haoky.”

“The Playhouse, huh. Fitting.” Seven strode forward, Thel on one side, Skavak on the other. She missed the comforting weight of her blaster and blade. Nobata enforced a no weapons policy and confiscated any item breaking that law. At least, the ones their security force could find. The polymer blades hidden in her vest and boots slid through the scans without so much as a beep.    

Starmist, Hai-Ka, and Sundew lined the walkways into the city proper. Vibrant colors breaking up the monotonous carpet of green. People filed by, jostling some, giving others a wide berth. Seven and her crew fell into the latter category.

Skavak nodded toward the flowers. “Those aren’t just for show. Mix a tincture of Starmist and Sweetblossom, and you won’t give a shit about anything for a week.”

“Voice of experience?” grunted Thel.

“Some things take time and a whole lot of don’t give a shit.”

Thel nodded. “I hear that.”

Seven stayed silent. Skavak hadn’t meant anything by his comment, and things were bound to slip in a place so close to his past. They’d had the conversation. He’d already explained, and who was she to question the memories that triggered his tongue? She’d choose her battles, and this wasn’t it.

The noise and glare of the casino hit with the subtlety of a railgun. The clack of dice cubes, the flutter of cards, the singing chatter of the slots flowed in an undercurrent beneath the wail of a Kloo band and the tidal crush of patrons. Cheers of the win, curses of the loss rose in the air and blended with the odor of perfume and cigar smoke, the tang of adrenaline, the stink of defeat.

Skavak tugged on Seven’s sleeve and tilted his head toward an arch leading outside. They wove their way through the tables, rubbed shoulders with the wealthy, guarded their pockets, and shooed away waiters showing more skin than clothes.

The sharp bite of chlorine and sweet scent of coconut tanning oil fought for dominance as they stepped onto the lanai. Seven strode forward, heading for a ten-story building at the end of a trellis covered walkway. Deep green vines covered with scarlet trumpet flowers cast shadows as they walked toward a pool surrounded by lounge chairs occupied by clients of varied height and girth.

Thel had ogled many a female form, and Seven realized how long it had been since he’d enjoyed any company of the feminine persuasion. The old man had more than earned a bit of self-indulgence.

“Thel, why don’t you get lost for a few hours.”

“Shouldn’t we stay together?”

“I’ll comm if I need you.” Seven poked at his shoulder. “Go on. I’ll message when I’m ready to leave.”

The ginger squared his shoulders, straightened his back and sauntered off toward one of the poolside bars.

Skavak and Seven had taken only a few steps onto the pool deck when a woman’s voice rang out. “Reis? Reis, darling, is that you?”

Skavak jerked to a halt and glanced at Seven.

‘Reis? Darling?’ she mouthed at him; her brows raised in amusement...maybe.

A shapely woman rose from a chaise and sashayed their way. Clothed in three swatches of cloth barely large enough to cover nips and cooch, she moved in and attached herself to Skavak’s lips like a leech. One hand gripped his shirt, the other drifted lower.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. “Should I leave you to it?”

Skavak turned his head and broke the kiss, casting a glance Seven’s way. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“A three-way?” the woman purred. “How deliciously kinky.”

The more Skavak tried to extricate himself, the tighter the woman clung. She was a scene waiting to happen. Knocking the woman on her ass would work but draw too much attention. As satisfying as that might be, Seven opted for intimidation, hoping the woman would get the message and not make a fuss.   

Seven leaned around Skavak’s body; her best ‘stab a bitch’ smile plastered on her face. “His ass is not free-range. Remove your hand. Now.”

The woman eyed Seven up and down, first with disdain, then with alarm as a decidedly sharp object appeared in Seven’s hand. Seven rolled the short blade between her fingers, point to handle, reverse at the pinky, and start again.

“You’ve got a—,” the woman’s pitch turned too many guests’ eyes in their direction.

“Uh—uh—uh.” Seven waggled the knife back and forth. Hunter to prey, message delivered, and received.     

The woman backed up, gathered her dignity and chucked Skavak under the chin in a final show of misplaced defiance. “You know my room number if you change your mind.” The twin globes of her ass, thong split, and tan jiggled away and plopped down on the chaise from whence she’d come.     

“Have I told you lately how damned scary you are?” Skavak’s cheeks expanded and deflated in a burst of air through pursed lips. “I need a drink.” He turned to Seven. “Look, I’m—”

She raised one finger to interrupt. “Think nothing of it, Reis, darling.”

He took her arm and guided her toward the hotel lobby door. “You’re never going to forget this, are you?”

“Nope.” She slid the blade discretely back into her vest.       

Typical Hutt opulence greeted them as they entered the hotel. Marble floors gleamed, chandeliers dripped from vaulted ceilings, and aurodium filigreed wainscoting graced the walls. Skavak strode toward the desk.

“Ah. Mister Fortis.” The clerk smiled. “I see you’ve returned. Will you be staying in your regular room?”     

“I won’t be here long.”

The clerk eyed Seven. “Hmm. Yes, of course.” He slid a keycard across the desk.

Seven sidled closer, propping her chin on Skavak’s shoulder. She batted her lashes and puckered her mouth into an appropriate pout. “But, Reis, darling, you promised we’d stay longer this time.”

Skavak bumped her away with his hip and continued. “I take it my locker is undisturbed?”

“Indeed. We pride ourselves on security and discretion.”

Skavak pushed the card back to the clerk and tugged Seven toward the hotel bar. “Knock it off, _darling_ , and I still need that drink.”

Seven grinned like a Nekkar cat with whiskers dripping cream.

Skavak slouched in the wicker chair sipping at his rum. Seven ordered wine, a good Corellian Red, something that went down smooth and didn’t impede her reflexes. Murmurs from other tables drifted across the veranda along with the clink of glass and the occasional laughter.

The temperature changed; the breeze cooled as the sun sank toward the horizon. Seven tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear and glanced at Skavak from time to time only to find him watching her.

“What?” She sounded more snappish than she intended.

His gaze intensified, open and disconcerting. “The sun at this angle brings out the highlights in your hair and paints a blush on your skin. The ship’s lighting doesn’t do you justice, and I sometimes forget how lovely you are.”

Caught off-guard, her defenses slammed into place. What was he up to now? Not trying to get into her pants; that was already a given. Pillow talk was one thing, but off-handed compliments came with strings, most of them unfriendly and knotted around her throat. Perhaps she’d become too damned jaded to accept the praise at face value, and maybe Skavak was worth the benefit of the doubt.

She stared into her wine glass. “Thanks.” The best she could do on short notice.

Skavak downed his drink and stood, extending his hand to her.

Seven sat her glass on the table and placed her palm in his. “Where are we going?”

“I’m going shopping if you’d care to tag along.” 


	25. Ain't that a Kick in the Head?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans, a heist, unexpected revelations

They left Nobata and their vacation of hours behind. Skavak stashed two bottles of rum in the galley cabinets and his new clothes in Seven’s quarters. Thel walked with a bit of a spring in his step and a dreamy afterglow in his eyes. Seven didn’t ask, he didn’t tell as the idyllic world disappeared in the backwash of the sublights.

Thel cut the engines three parsecs out and joined Seven and Skavak in the situation/conference room. Skavak slid the data crystal into the port and stepped back to observe the star chart unfold across the screen.

“Would you look at that.” Thel’s eyes rounded in amazement as systems blinked into view. “Where’s the map Watcher X gave you?”

Seven removed the crystal from a drawer and popped it into a secondary port. “There you go. What now?”

“Now, I reduce the size and make an overlay. Then I search for a match on Skavak’s map. Even with the computer, it’ll take some time. And that’s just the beginning of our problem.”

Skavak leaned against the table, his eyes keen on the two maps. “I see it. The area we need to travel to is outside our navicomputer’s XYZ coordinates, and it’s damn sure not part of the Galactic Grid.”

Thel nodded. “And no fucking hyperspace beacon. I’m going to have to go back to basics and figure time, distance, and fuel to get us there. Math is a constant, absolute zero the same no matter where the calculations come from. The problem being, we don’t know where their absolute zero is.”

“How long?” asked Seven.

“Could be hours, could be days. And then I’ll have to program a subroutine in the computer to utilize the new calculations.” Thel’s shoulders slumped with the weight of it all. “I hope to hell we have plenty of caf and stims.”

Seven pulled up a list of names on her datapad. “How far are we from Farquar?”

“One and a half days, give or take, why?”

“A neutral planet, right?”   

Thel arched a brow. “Independent, last time I checked. I know that look, girl. You’re planning something.”

“You could say that.” She turned her attention to Skavak. “You ever stolen a ship?”

The edge of his mouth ticked up in a half smile. “Does a Tiebreaker Card win the set?”

Thel blew a low whistle through his teeth. “You got one of those?”

“And not a counterfeit either. Best you don’t know how I got it.”

“Your boy’s full of surprises.” Thel scooted past Seven. “Farquar it is.”

#

A small, inconsequential planet, Farquar lay at grid Q-11 in the Kurost sector of the mid rim. A minor industrial world, it manufactured droid parts used by Republic and Empire alike. Another stinking shithole, it reminded Seven of Kellneth right down to the stench.

“I take you to a pleasure world, and you take me to this,” Skavak teased as he and Seven exited the shuttle they’d taken from the docking station orbiting the planet.  

“You didn’t seem to mind where I took you last night.”

“Point taken.”

“Exactly.”

They stopped in the middle of the causeway to observe their surroundings.

“Lot’s of people,” said Skavak.

“Lots of guards, especially by those loading docks. Time for plan B.”

“Which is?”

“Hang back, stay alert, don’t interfere, and let me work my magic.”    

Baggy chinos, shirt with a torn sleeve, scuffed boots, dressed like the locals, Seven entered the cantina at the end of the walkway. Skavak strolled in minutes later, spacer’s bag in hand. He ordered a rum and sat at the end of the bar.

Seven let the right amount of fear and hesitation play across her features and chewed nervously on her lower lip as she scanned the patrons. Most returned attention to their drinks and companions after casting a few curious glances her way. The six men at the table by the door, however, ogled her as if she were a nerf steak and they were the only ones with forks.  

She jumped and spun around as the barkeep spoke. “You’ll have to order something or leave; Miss. Rules is rules.”

“Umm. What would you suggest?” Her voice quivered. Her Imperial accent gone.

“I could suggest something,” one of the spacers leered at her. His hand grabbed his crotch.

“Knock it off, Tilus.” The barkeep glared at the man before softening his expression and turning back to Seven. “I’m Wiles. How about some brandy? It’s not too strong and will calm your nerves.”

Seven nodded. Wiles poured the drink and slid it across the bar. “That’ll be two credits.”

She dug in the bag she’d slung over her shoulder and leaned in as she laid the credits on the bar. “I’m looking for transport away from here,” she murmured and yet let her voice travel around the room. “I have currency. I can pay.”

“You got currency alright, baby. In all the right places.” She recognized Tilus’ tone. A nasal tenor as spindly as the man himself.

“Get your man under control, Hollin.” Wiles scowled.

A meaty thud came from behind Seven, and Tilus’ whiney, petulant voice raised an octave or two. “What the hell, Hollin? That hurt.”

“Be thankful it wasn’t your balls.”

Seven turned in time to see a lunk of a man, wide of girth, wider of jowls, with the small mean eyes of a Desert Razorback slide his chair back and tromp in her direction. He tugged the brim of his hat, his beady gaze settled on her chest. “Sorry about Tilus, Miss. You mentioned needing transport?”

Seven glanced at Wiles, who shook his head and went back to wiping down the bar. A hint of pity flashed across his face.

Oh yes. Hollin was precisely what she was looking for.

She swiveled her head toward the entrance, her demeanor appropriately nervous, numbingly afraid. Seven startled as Hollin spoke. “You ain’t bringing trouble, are you little lady?”

“N—no,” she stammered. “You got someplace I can hide? I’ll pay extra.”

“Running, huh? Husband? Father?” Hollin’s tongue swiped across his thick lips. “You can hide on my ship.”

Seven nodded and clutched her bag closer to her chest. She scanned the table where Hollin’s cronies sat, elbowing each other with male understanding, murmuring amongst themselves, laughing at male jokes.

Seven laughed inside.

She caught sight of Skavak, his face unreadable, his hands in a stranglehold on the glass, twisting slightly as though it were flesh and bone.

“After you, Miss,” Hollin grinned and cast a wink toward his men. “Going to get the little lady settled in. I’ll expect you sods at the ship in an hour.”

A brisk walk to landing pad six. Hollin’s guiding hand drifted from the small of her back to the top of her ass. He told her their departure time. Asked if she had any particular destination. Promised he’d keep her safe from his men. He spoke of a down payment but never explained. He didn’t have to. She kept her responses monosyllabic; yes, no, mhmm. 

Not ten seconds after the hatch closed, Hollin had her trapped against the outer wall. Her bag slipped from her shoulder to the floor. His hat tumbled from his head.

“Time for that down payment, girlie. You’re pretty enough, I’ll get a good price for you, despite the rough use.”

He stunk of sweat and lust, his breath hot and reeking of whiskey. His tongue, a fat wet slug, pushed at her lips, trailed down her neck. He pawed at her breasts, fumbled with her belt, tried to push his pudgy fingers down the front of her pants. She put up a fight, he slapped her and raised his hand to strike again. She threw up her arms in defense. He closed in. The opening she needed.

She pulled a hairpin from her messy tangle of hair, popped the protective caps at the end of the needle-sharp prongs and rammed it into his double chin, right below the jawbone. The lingual or facial vein her target; Seven hit her mark.

Quick and pulse-driven, the poison coursed through his body. His eyes went wide and wild. He clutched at his throat, and then his chest. “You bitch!” he yelled. He lunged for her, lost his footing, and fell. His body spasmed, his boots drummed the floor. The stench of vomit and loosened bowels filled the corridor. Hollin went still.

“What the hell’s going on out there?” Words boomed from the cockpit end of the hallway.

The clomp of boots, a man appeared, striding fast and hard.

Seven went down on one knee, her fingers closing on her boot knife, her voice high and reedy. “Help. Please.”

“Shit!” The man came nearer.

Seven whirled, her arm stretched in one smooth motion, her hand flicked. The blade glinted and disappeared to the hilt in the man’s neck. He had time for a gurgle and one last step.

She tapped her ear, activating her comms. “You there?”

Skavak sucked on his teeth in response.

“Landing pad six. Light freighter, call name ‘ _Whiskey Twice.’_ Take your time. I’ll keep the lights on.”

Hollin had mentioned a two-hour delay in his last shipment’s delivery for loading. She had maybe an hour for pre-flights and takeoff. The ship’s droid had powered down for a recharge. She’d reprogram it to clean up the mess later.

Every freighter Captain had hidey holes for contraband, and she couldn’t spare time to check. She paused in the galley to wash her hands. The poison she’d used on Hollin wasn’t absorptive or ingestive, but still. Wiping her hands on her pants, she continued her search of the various quarters and rooms. No one else on board. Lucky for them.

Skavak boarded, held his nose, stepped over the bodies and followed her to the bridge. “Controls unlocked?” he asked.

“Guess they weren’t too concerned.” Panels came to life, switches flipped, and the repulsors brought online. Seven waited for tower clearance and engaged.

Skavak lowered himself into the co-pilot seat. “You left quite a mess back there in the hallway.”

“Best policy. No witnesses.”

“The men in the cantina?” He brought up the navicomputer grid.

“Five of them, mostly drunk. They’ll give five different descriptions.”

“And the barkeep?”

“I don’t like to kill good men if I don’t have to.”

“Must mean I’m a good man.”

“You have your moments.”

#

“We’re going to the Kossa sector, why?” Skavak programmed in the coordinates and made the jump.

“I have to kill a man.” Seven stood and stretched her back.

“Have to or want to?”

She leveled her gaze on him. “Have to and want to are irrelevant. If I don’t want to, I don’t have to. You’re a case in point, but some choices aren’t that simple.”

“Don’t I know it.”

He was oh so good at saying things with a myriad of meanings and no real direction. She bent over and kissed his cheek. “I need a shower.”

He didn’t offer to join her. The fierce set of his jaw spoke of internal thoughts he’d share, or not, and who was she to pry?

They’d flushed the bodies out the airlock a few parsecs from Farquar. The stench of Hollin still clung to Seven’s skin. She skirted the reprogrammed droid busying itself in the corridor, cleaning up the blood and darker remnants of two men’s demise. She glanced at the stains, heard the scratch of the bristle brush, the slosh of water. She’d singled out Hollin. Wanted to. Had to. Some choices were that simple.

Skavak avoided her at dinner. She thought it odd but didn’t seek him out. She checked the ship’s stores, inspected the cargo, went through Hollin’s possessions, sliced into his datapad, finding more porn than anything useful. Seven made sure the droid flipped the mattress and put clean sheets on the bed before she climbed in and opened the blueprints of the Toyanni Shipyards.

Each swipe of her finger revealed another level, from loading docks to manufacturing floors. Ingress and egress at each section, security locations, blind spots, dead ends, checkpoints, conduits, subfloors and ventilation shafts; all she required to formulate a plan. She closed the file and opened the one for the estate of Minal Toyanni situated on the planet of Basarais, around which the shipyards orbited. The man she’d come to kill.

Her concentration kept slipping back to Skavak. Damn him. She shut the datapad down in frustration. Silence was not Skavak’s way. He cajoled, joked, seduced, charmed and outright lied. What had him so tied up inside he avoided her? What was he hiding now?

Bloody hell. Seven flipped the covers aside, preparing to rise when the door opened, and Skavak strode through. He didn’t look at her, didn’t speak, but headed to the refresher and shut himself away. The thud of boots hitting the floor, the clunk of his belt buckle and the hiss of running water came through the seals of the door. She eased down, turned her back, and waited.

The shower stopped; the door opened. Seven breathed the steam, smelled the soap, the mint of toothpaste and the faint trace of whiskey as Skavak’s weight settled on the mattress. She didn’t turn to him, he didn’t reach for her, and she waited.   

Silence has layers, seals broken and peeled back with each utterance, and sometimes laid to waste with one blast.     

Gravel and iron shattered the dead air between them. “Why didn’t we stick to the plan and just steal the damned ship?”

Whatever his struggles, Seven hadn’t anticipated this. “And risk unwanted attention? It was not the place for a firefight.”

“It was a loading dock, for fuck’s sake. We could have gone in as workers or part of a crew.”

She finally turned to him, propping herself on her elbow. “Most of those people knew each other. My way guaranteed entry to a ship accompanied by its Captain. No questions asked. Plans change. I played it the only logical way.”

His brows knit into a sharp V. “Fuck logic.”

“It worked, didn’t it? What the hell is your problem?” She hadn’t intended to raise her voice.

His jaw clenched. “I couldn’t bear the thought of that bastard’s hands on you.”

“Oh.” What else was there to say?

“Yeah. Surprised me too.” He stared at the ceiling as if the tiles alone could understand him. “I don’t have those feelings, and I don’t get that involved. It never ends well.”

“And yet this thing between us is—”

“Don’t. If you name a thing, you lose a thing. It’s better to keep it locked up here.” He hit the middle of his chest with his fist. “In here you make it whatever you want. A fantasy, a dream, a beginning, salvation, a goal. And you can keep it forever, untarnished and pure. But once it’s named it’s out there, with expectations and demands. It lingers on promises of sweet deliverance balanced by the fear of heartbreaking abandonment. It fucking sucks you dry.”

So, this was what he clung to. The safety of a persona, the hardened shell of indifference, letting nothing in or out. She watched the emotions play across his face; consternation, anger, fear, regret, longing. There and gone like a whisper caught in a windstorm, he’d gifted her a glimpse of the wonders he held inside.

He shifted his head on the pillow, azure eyes gone dark with accusation. “You know what I’m talking about. You and I are the same.”

Maybe. Probably. Did it matter?

“Show me.” Seven rolled to her back and pulled the sheet down to her hips.

“What?”

“Show me where you couldn’t stand for him to touch me.”

“Seven, I...”

“Please.”

He dragged his warmth with him, heating the side of her where he rested, propped on elbows and hovering to lower his lips to her forehead, eyes, nose, cheeks, lips, chin.

He stopped. Blue eyes bargaining before he uttered a word. “I’ll make you a deal. The day you give it a name, I will too.”

Too many ifs for the covenant he sought. Too many unknowns between now and whenever. She made the vow in her heart, but her mouth couldn’t form the agreement. “Shh,” she hushed the question on his face.

He shuttered his eyes and continued. He kissed her collarbone. “Here.” The valley between her breasts.

He drifted. “Here” Lower. “Here”


End file.
